


Shall We Play a Game?

by Nuinzilien



Series: The Courting Habits of Dwarves and Elves [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, OEAM_BigBang 2016, Prequel, implied father/son incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 08:58:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8321884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/pseuds/Nuinzilien
Summary: Thranduil has a pack of dwarves in his dungeons, one lost in his forest, and war on the horizon.  The last thing he expected was to have his eye caught by a prisoner with more sass than sense.  *Prequel to On The Courting Habits of Dwarves and Elves





	1. These Games We Play

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 OEAM_Big Bang!
> 
> Rating: soft R  
> Disclaimer: I do not own them, nor do I profit from their use.  
> Warnings: M/M, Non-graphic violence  
> Beta: Alexcat  
> Artist: Elladan's Girl  
> Archive: OEAM, Ao3  
> Spoilers: No more than any other fanfiction, really

 

 

If Legolas never saw another spider again in his long life, it would still be too soon.  It was bad enough the vile, monstrous beasts wove mighty swaths of webbing that blocked out nearly all the light and cast queer shadows that tricked the eye, but they had also begun poisoning the trees along the southern borders, creeping further and further into the territory Legolas and his people called home.

 

Having returned home after a long scouting mission, he wanted nothing more than to deliver his report to the king, soak his aches away in the hot springs, and then sleep for a month at least. 

 

“Prince Legolas!”  The guards on either side of the King’s chamber entrance straightened as the Prince approached.

 

Legolas shrugged the bow and quiver from his shoulders, handing them over.  “How long has he been in there?”

 

“Nearly an hour, my prince.  He has been waiting since he was told of your return.”

 

Only years of court training kept his wince from showing as he removed his daggers from their sheathes and handed them to the guard.  Thranduil’s moods were mercurial at the best of times, but when he’d been kept waiting, the royal temper ran even shorter.  Legolas sighed.  “I’ll handle it.  You are dismissed.”  He waited for the guards to disappear around the corner, then passed through the small antechamber and into the King’s quarters.  “Sire.”

 

“Is that any way to greet your father, my son?” came Thranduil’s cool reply.

 

The younger elf hesitated.  He’d assumed Thranduil would wish to hear his report right away, so he had not bothered to wash up before presenting himself.  But that had hardly mattered in the past.  He’d come to his king much dirtier than this.

 

“Legolas.”  Thranduil gave him a pointed look, a thread of impatience in his tone.

 

The young prince looked down at himself.  Oops.  He stepped out into the antechamber and stripped, folding his clothing neatly.  The King of Mirkwood had his fair share of eccentricities, but this particular quirk had taken Legolas the longest to understand.

 

Thranduil demanded that his son should be naked when addressing him in his chambers.

 

For much of his youth and early adulthood, Legolas had thought it was something everyone had to do in the presence of the king, to show that you were not armed.  Some kings were paranoid like that.  Later, when he realized that no, actually, only HE had to appear before his king unclothed, the young elf had resented it, seeing it as merely another way for his father to assert his dominance.

 

_“No, Prince Legolas, that is not it at all,”_ his attendant had informed him one morning, pulling the brush through his hair before twisting it into his customary braids.    _“King Thranduil knows that his rule here is absolute, and that none would dare challenge him for it.  YOU have not challenged him, have you?”_

_He twisted to look back at the woman as though she had lost her mind.  “Of course not!  He is my father!  I have no interest in being king until I must.”_

_She hummed and tugged his head back into position.  “Indeed.  So what need would he have to remind you of it?”_

_Legolas huffed.  “So why, then?  To prove that I am unarmed?  You just said that none would dare challenge him for kingship, and it frustrates him to no end when he believes I am shirking my duties as prince, so he cannot possibly think I would be a threat to him!  Does he not trust me?”_

_“Aye and nay.”_

_The young prince pouted.  “You sound like Lord Elrond now, who cannot seem answer a simple question without saying two things at once and then ending up saying nothing at all!”_

_His attendant laughed.  “And YOU are sounding more like your Grandsire, Prince Legolas.”  She tied off a braid and started on the next.  “But it is the truth nonetheless.  He trusts you not to turn on him.  He does NOT trust you to tell him the complete truth.  He did the same thing with your Nana, and it drove her just as mad.”_

_Legolas frowned.  “I have never lied to him.”_

_“A lie by omission is still a lie, prince.  It is the king’s duty to keep his people safe.  And a father’s duty to keep his family healthy.”_

_The prince turned again.  “Wait… you mean all of this is STILL about my arm?  It has been a hundred years since that happened, and it was only a slight sprain!  He cannot still be upset about that.”_

_She shrugged.  “I am only telling you what I believe to be true, my Prince.  You did not tell him about your injury.  In fact, you hid it from him.  He cannot fix what he does not know is broken, so regardless of how minor your pain was, it went on needlessly.”_

_“But it was only a sprain, and not even a severe one.  I did not want him to think me still a child, begging him to kiss away every little hurt, and it was such a small thing.  Hardly worth a king’s attention.”_

_“But he is not just your king, is he?”_

_Legolas sighed.  “Nay.”_

_“Right.  It may be a slight embarrassment to you, but times are getting more and more treacherous, young one.  When there is so much he cannot control, is it such a terrible thing to allow him this small indulgence so that he may assure himself that you are hale?”  She finished off the last braid.  “Besides, if only issues of earth shattering importance were brought to the king’s attention, our home would have fallen in its infancy.  Great kingdoms of Men and Dwarves, and even Elves have fallen to ruin because their Kings were fools, oblivious to the small things going on around them.  Your father is many things, Prince Legolas, but a fool is not one of them.”_

 

Legolas had taken his attendant’s words to heart and tried not to become frustrated over the ‘small embarrassment’, as she had put it.  And truly, once he’d begun taking on more responsibility and attending the seemingly endless Open Courts, during which the elves of their realm could bring their troubles before the king, he had seen the benefit of paying attention to the small things.  I seemed that being king was more about putting out fires while they were tiny sparks, rather than waiting for them to turn into raging infernos threatening to bring the forest down around them.

 

The morning he’d come to break his fast with Thranduil, only to see the king having his shoulder bound, bloody scraps of cloth laying in a pile on the floor, had been a very rude awakening. 

 

_“The guards told me you had returned, but no one told me you had been injured,” Legolas said._

 

_The king arched an eyebrow as if to say ‘and your point?’, only to ruin it with a hissing wince and a glare toward the healer._

_The elf sniffed and tied off the binding.  “Perhaps next time his Highness will remember that he has scouts for a reason and does not need to personally investigate every pack of orc rabble trying to sneak through the forest.”_

_“That will be all, Galan.  You are dismissed.”_

_“Aye, Sire.”  The healer gathered the bloody fabrics and was gone._

_The moment the healer left, Legolas was examining the wrapped shoulder carefully.  “What happened?”_

_“Nothing as terrible as you are likely imagining.  An orc was simply not as dead as it pretended to be.  I remedied the issue, but not before it managed a lucky throw.”_

_Legolas hummed.  “YOU were lucky that it was poorly aimed.  You could have died.  Is this all of it, or are there more that I have not seen?”_

_Thranduil gave him an amused look, then tugged off the remains of his tunic and unlaced his leggings.  He stood, letting them fall to the ground.  “See for yourself.”_

 

From then on, they had an understanding of sorts.  Legolas would present himself to Thranduil’s sitting room when he returned from patrols to deliver his report, bare of anything but his braids.  In return, on the rare occasion the King chose to leave his realm and join in the hunt, he would return the favor, allowing his son to reassure himself that evil had not stolen another parent from him.

 

And if eyes (and hands and even lips) lingered on smooth flesh and finely toned muscle longer than strictly necessary…. Well, who could blame them?  They were elves in their prime, ageless and beautiful.  And as Thranduil was so fond of saying, they were royal.  As long as there was no harm being done to their subjects or their lands, they could do as they damned well pleased.

 

And they did.  Frequently.

 

Legolas placed his leathers and weapons on a shelf, squared his shoulders, and stepped into the room.  He bowed to his king, who waited with two glasses of wine.  “I apologize for coming to you unprepared, my King.  It has been a long day.”

 

The king nodded and handed him a wine glass.  “Then take a moment to refresh yourself, Legolas, if there is not great hurry for you to be elsewhere.”

 

“Not necessarily.”  He took a healthy sip of his wine.  “Mmm… I like this vintage.  It is milder than the Dorwinion.”

 

“You are welcome to it then,” his father replied, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.  “Its maker is from far to the East of here.  It was a gift from the Master of Laketown.  I was going to dispose of it, but if you like it, I will be sure to have it included in the next shipment.”

 

“I think I would like to give it a try for a bit.”  Legolas finished his wine and handed it to his father, who placed both now empty glasses on a nearby table.  “I am ready.”

 

“Very well.”  Thranduil began to circle him.  “Begin.”

 

Legolas stared ahead, only just barely resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.  “We were tracking a party of intruders along the Old Path.  They were dwarves, so of course it did not take long for them to stray into the forest.” 

 

“Unsurprising.  Dwarves would become lost above ground with a map and a yellow stone path to guide them.”  He rubbed at a speck of mud on the younger elf’s shoulder.  “Continue.”

 

“We thought perhaps they were traveling to the Iron Hills and tried to guide them north.  But they seemed disoriented and wandered far afield.  We lost sight of them for barely a moment.  When we found them again, they were being attacked by a group of spiders.”

 

Thranduil frowned.  “I ordered the nests destroyed months ago, Prince.”  He reached out to brush hair away from Legolas’ shoulder.

 

The prince sighed.  “We did.  We killed every spider within fifty miles of here in all directions.  But there is only so much we can do when we are not permitted to enter the fortress where they are breeding.”

 

“I have already made my wishes quite plain, Legolas.  Keep our lands clean of Ungoliant’s spawn, and stay out of Dol Guldur.”  Thranduil ran his hands along slender, well-muscled shoulders, inspecting every scratch and scrape he found.  “Go on.”

 

Legolas bit his lip on a retort.  “There were twenty spiders attacking them.”

 

The king’s brow arched.  “Twenty?  Since when do they attack in packs like that?”

 

The younger elf shook his head.  “In the last six months.  They have been growing in number and aggression.  This WAS a larger pack than usual, but is becoming more common.  The dwarves managed to kill eight of them.”

 

“Only eight?  How many dwarves in the group?”

 

“Fourteen.”

 

“Fourteen dwarves only killed eight spiders?  I find that difficult to believe.”

 

Legolas nodded.  “Aye, so would I under normal circumstances.  But this was not normal.  As I said, they seemed disoriented.  Muddled.  They tried to cross the stream, but one of them fell in.  We thought initially he had drowned, but they carried him, and we could have followed his snores from leagues away.  It slowed them enough for the spiders to group up and attack.  They killed eight, we killed the others and rounded up the dwarves.  Or thirteen of them, at least.  Of various ages.  Ten adults and three youths.  There were four younger members originally, but only three when we found them again.”

 

“What happened to the fourth child?  The river?”

 

Legolas shook his head.  “There were still fourteen then.  We think it may have been carried off.  I have Lormenon looking for it, but I do not have much hope of it being found alive, especially if it became separated from the group.”

 

“Fools, all of them.  Children have no business in the forest, least of all dwarven children.”  Thranduil sighed and stepped back, satisfied with his inspection.  “Send seven more scouts out to help Lormenon in his search.  I want the child found, even if only a body.  If there is a dwarrowdam in the group, perhaps she will be grateful enough for the return of her offspring to tell us what we wish to know.”

 

“And if she chooses to keep her silence?”

 

“Then at least the spiders will have one less meal, and our new guests one less reason to escape.”

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Kili eyed the dark-haired guard through the bars.  “Shouldn’t you be out taking care of that pest problem in your forest instead of bothering me?”

 

The guard sniffed.  “Preferably, dwarf, but for the moment my duty lies here.  The King has decided to honor you by extending an invitation to take a meal with him.”

 

“Finally getting around to me, is he?  Well…” Kili pretended to consider the offer, leaning back on his cot.  A number of his companions had already been interrogated by Mirkwood’s king.  Most had returned to their cells exhausted and resigned to life spent in a dungeon cell.  Dori had come back scratching his head in confusion. (“He’s got it into his head that I’m a dam and kept telling me my children would be well cared for and safe.  To be honest, I didn’t know whether to thank him for his kindness, or ask him what mushrooms he’d been eating.”), and Ori had returned to his cell annoyed, but looking much healthier than when he’d left.  When asked about his visit, the young scribe had told Kili only that the king had fussed over him, spreading a paste over the spider bite on his shoulder and asking if he had enough blankets. (“He’s as bad as Dori.  I think if he hadn’t been interrupted, he’d have reminded me to eat my greens and wash behind my ears!)  Kili had only felt a little guilty for laughing.

 

He glared at the guard “If your King agrees to mind his own business and let us go on our way, I’d be glad to.  Otherwise, tell him I’m disinclined to acquiesce to his request.  In fact, you can tell him that I would rather be the Goblin King’s mistress than eat at his table.”

 

The guard bristled, his hand moving to rest on the dagger hilt peeking out of his belt.  “You’ll mind your tongue in the presence of your betters, bratling.”

 

Kili’s grinned with glee.  “When I find one, then perhaps I might.  But I will bugger Azog on my own Mother’s dinner table before I consider any elf as my better.  Go ahead and tell your King I said that too, please.”

 

From somewhere down the tunnel, Kili heard a groan and a muttered curse.  Poor old Balin.  He’d been warning Kili for decades that his mouth would get him into more trouble than he could get himself out of.  He supposed he should feel a bit guilty, because if they’d had little chance of getting out before, they were certainly going to die in these cells now…

 

The guard seethed.  “Others have said that before, Naugrim.  It never ended well for them.”

 

“Abrad, hurry up!” a female voice barked sharply.  “The king is waiting and we have a child gone missing in the forest.”

 

Abrad straightened.  “A child?  No elfling would be foolish enough to leave our lands.”

 

A red-haired she elf approached them, an elegant eyebrow arched.  “Indeed not.  It is a dwarfling lost in the spider-infested south.”

 

Abrad sneered.  “No great loss, if you ask me.”

 

“Then it is a good thing we did not.”  She frowned impatiently.  “But our king feels differently and wants the child found.  So unless you would like to be the one to explain why his direct orders were ignored, I suggest you stop letting yourself be baited by an adolescent and move along.”  She took the keys from him.  “Go.  I will see to this one.”

 

Abrad looked torn between resentment and relief as he bowed.  “Yes, Captain Tauriel.”  He turned and escaped down the tunnel.

 

Kili watched Tauriel select a key from the ring and fit it into his lock.  “I’m not going to change my answer just because the one asking is prettier.  I’m still not hungry enough to eat with your king.”

 

She smiled, amused.  “You misunderstand, young one.  The King wishes for your company, and no is not an option.”  The lock clicked open.

 

[](http://s345.photobucket.com/user/Nuinzilien/media/Not%20an%20Option%20-%20BB2016_zpsq8x6u5mt.jpg.html)

 

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?  So there’s a dwarf child out there lost?”

 

She nodded.  “We were watching you from the moment you stepped into our forest.  Counting your King, there were fourteen in your group, but only thirteen were brought here.  The smallest of you, the bare-faced child, was missing.”

 

Kili swallowed.  Bilbo.  They were out looking for Bilbo.  Which meant that their poor Hobbit was out there somewhere, lost among the webbed, sickly trees and poisonous air of Mirkwood.  Their Hobbit, who was still free and might, by some twist of whatever luck he’d been blessed with, possibly be the one able to spring them from this place, given enough time and distraction.

 

He rolled to his feet and headed for the barred entrance.  “Y’know, I think I’ve changed my mind.  If the only way for your king to get company for dinner is to dine with a prisoner, then by all means, take me to meet the gutless bag of bones.”

 

She pulled the cell door open and allowed him to pass.  “You have spirit, Master Dwarf,” she said, amused as she lead him out with a hand on his collar.  “It may yet be what saves you.”

 

Kili blinked.  So the Elf King liked a bit of balls and sass in his prisoners.  Alright then.  He could work with that.

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Thranduil peered through a curtain, spying on the young prince wandering around his sitting room.  He was quite tall for a dwarf, and certainly built along sleeker lines than most others he’d known.  But a Longbeard heir of Durin with no beard…

 

He watched the dwarf prince slump back down in a chair and fidget.  After letting him stew for a bit, the King strolled into the room casually, moving toward a cabinet that held a tray of wine glasses and a bottle of red.  He glanced over and held up the bottle.  “Drink?”

 

“Do you make a habit of drinking with your prisoners after you’ve made them wait for over half an hour?  It’s a bit rude to summon someone and then be late.”

 

Thranduil poured two glasses of wine, carrying them over.  “On the contrary, I was perfectly on time.  You were the one who arrived early.”  He sat, placing one glass on the table between them before leaning back in his chair to sip at the other.  He rolled the liquid around his tongue with a soft hum.  “A bit more floral than I prefer, but you might like it.  Try it, Son of Durin.”

 

The prince gave him a puzzled look, reaching for the glass.  He leaned back in his chair, mirroring Thranduil’s own relaxed pose.  “Son of Durin?  Rather polite of you.  I’m surprised it wasn’t ‘naugrim’, like Abrad the guard said.” 

 

Thranduil grunted.  “I don’t care for the term.  I prefer not to test the patience of a Valar by insulting his craftsmanship.”

 

The dwarf took a sip and immediately pulled a disgusted face.  “Ugh… tastes like I’m drinking those scented oils Men make their wives bathe in.”  He huffed.  “No, you’d rather promise them aid and then leave them to starve.”

 

“Ah yes, it did not take you long to drag that out, did it?  One little mistake,” he added with a dramatic roll of his eyes, just to see his reaction.

 

“A little mistake?  A little MISTAKE!”  The dwarf prince snarled.  “You spawn of a warg bitch!  Do you even know how many of our people di-“

 

Thranduil savored the tiny, shocked squeak from the young dwarf as he cut off the rant with a sudden kiss.  He knew it was a risky move, but the prince’s eyes had snapped so brilliantly and he looked so lively flushed in righteous anger that Thranduil had been unable to resist pushing him a bit further.

 

Stars exploded behind his eyes as a fist connected with his nose, sending him reeling back.  He blinked and gingerly felt his nose, distantly aware of his guest pounding on the door and demanding to be let out.

 

“My Lord!”  Tauriel’s face appeared in front of him, her expression appalled.  She turned to Kili, angry.  “You attacked him, Dwarf?!”

 

Thranduil held his hand up.  “It was deserved, Tauriel.  He is not to be punished for it.  Take him back to his cell as he requested.”

 

Tauriel glanced from him to the dwarf at the door and sighed.  “Yes, my King.  Do you require a healer?”

 

“It was well done, but I think not.   Nothing is broken.”  He winced and touched his nose gingerly.  “Dismissed.”

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Kili sat in his cell and seethed for days (or possibly hours, it was hard to tell, but it felt like days), occasionally fending off questions from his kin on what the king had said to him, what he had said to the king, and was he SURE he hadn’t spoken about their quest to anyone who ought not know?

 

He threw a bread crumb through the bars.  The bastard elf had kissed him!  KISSED him!  Shoved those ridiculously thin elf lips against his RIGHT as he was building up to a proper vent, and completely threw him off!

 

Kili sulked.  Not only had he been denied his chance to tell the stupid elf off, but it had been done with one of the best kisses of his life.  For all its brevity, it had definitely been among his top ten nicest, not like the over-eager, slobbering attempts from others his age, or the greedy grasping of dwarves looking for a boost up the royal ladder.

 

“Kili.”

 

He sighed.  “Fili, I told you, I didn’t tell him anything!”

 

“I know, Kili.  I believe you.  But you’ve been very quiet since your return.  Did HE say anything?”

 

“No, not really.  He just gave me wine and talked some nonsense about not wanting to insult the Valar’s craftsmanship.”

 

A snort came from the direction of his uncle’s cell.

 

“I know, that’s what I said, too.  That was it, really.  But the she-elf guard did mention something about them looking for a missing child.  One of ours.”

 

“A child?”  Kili could hear the puzzled frown in Thorin’s voice.  “We had no children with us.”

 

“No, we didn’t.  But this is an **elf** assuming he was a child.  And they only brought in thirteen of us, so **someone** is missing!”

 

Bilbo appeared before them.  “Nope, wrong again.”

 

Kili beamed.  “Bilbo!”

 

The hobbit took a moment to bask in the relieved exclamations from his companions.  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.  I was a little woozy at first after our ordeal with the spiders, but I managed to slip in behind the elves before they locked everything down.”

 

“That was days ago,” Nori said.  “How have you managed to stay free?”

 

Bilbo hesitated for half a second, his hand squeezing tightly around something.  “Well, just… Burglar practice, I suppose.  Like Gandalf said, quiet and unseen when I want to be.”

 

“Can you get us out?” their leader asked.

 

He sighed.  “Still working on that bit, actually.  I’ve mostly been hiding and learning my way around.  I’m looking for a way out, but like I said, the kingdom is closed.  I need time.”

 

“Which we don’t have much of,” Thorin said on a sigh.

 

“Right.  So I’ll stop wasting what time I **do** have and get gone.  I’ll be back when I know something.  Until then… try not to get yourselves executed.  From what I’ve heard, the King here is rather unpredictable.”  With that, Bilbo ran down the tunnel and disappeared.

 

Kili chewed his lip in thought.

 

“Kiilii,” his brother whined.  “Don’t.”

 

“What?”

 

“I can hear you planning something from all the way over here.  Just don’t.”

 

“You worry too much, Fi.  I’ve got this.”  Kili started banging on his cell bars.

 

“Kili!  Kili, stop it!  As your future king, I expressly FORBID you to do this, whatever it is!”

 

Kili hated it when his brother tried to pull rank.  It usually meant he was desperate.  “Look, when you’re king you can punish me for it all you want.  But until then, Bilbo needs time and to be able to move around without getting caught.  So that’s what I’m going to get him.”  He pounded his hands against the bars again, shouting for the guard captain.

 

The lady in question stormed down the corridor, coming to a stop at his cell.  “Stop this at once, I am here!”

 

Kili gave her his brightest grin, though it quickly morphed into a cheeky leer when he noticed the mark on her neck.  “Did I interrupt a bit of mischief, Captain?  I didn’t know you elves did anything as normal as a quick tup in the dungeons.”

 

She flushed.  “What do you want, dwarf?”

 

He cleared his throat.  “Well, actually, I would like to respectfully request an audience with your king.  Just to see how he’s doing, you know.  He seemed a bit nasal the last time we chatted.” 

 

“Strange you should say that, actually.”  She reached for the ring of keys at her waist.  “He has requested that I escort you to his receiving chambers. To continue your previous conversation.”

 

“Well it looks like my diary is clear for a while, so I suppose I could oblige.”

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

 

Kili took his seat across from Thranduil.  “I see you decided not to keep me waiting this time.”

 

The elf king gave an elegant shrug.  “I was recently made to understand that it is quite rude to do so.   Of course, it is also rude to seat yourself without first being invited, but I suppose one can only expect so much from the likes of you.”  He watched the young dwarf bristle for a moment, then poured frothy ale into a pair of wine glasses and slid one over.  “Stop puffing, child, I only meant that manners and etiquette are wasted on the young.  My son Legolas was the same way.”

 

“I met him on the way in,” Kili grumbled.  “I can’t say his are any better.  And he’s a thief besides.”

 

Thranduil snorted.  “If you are referring to the Orcrist blade, it is an elvish blade made for elvish hands.”

 

The prince’s eyes narrowed.  “And given to us by an elvish Lord, so I’ll thank you to return my Uncle’s sword when we leave this place.”

 

“You are quite the presumptuous little prince, are you not?  You are hardly in a place to demand anything of me.”

 

“But you seem to have no problems molesting your prisoners.  How’s your nose feeling today, by the way?”  Kili picked up his glass and took a drink.

 

“Just fine.  A bit of bruising, but no harm done.”

 

“That’s a shame.  I was hoping to fix that pretty maiden nose of yours, but it was a bad angle.”

 

Thranduil took a sip of his drink.  “So tell me, Son of Dis, why should I not have you whipped for the assault upon my person?”

 

Kili sneered. “Because you’re not that stupid.  The moment word got out that you whipped one of Durin’s heirs for defending himself against your unwanted advances, Dain would burn your forest down around your pointed ears.  So no, you won’t touch me.”

 

The king sniffed and took another drink.  “Dain Ironfoot would do well to remember who controls the trade ports in this region.  But trading threats is not why I summoned you here.  Your Uncle is much more fun at that game.”

 

The dwarf prince frowned.  “Then why am I here?”

 

“Boredom.  You seem like the type to grow troublesome with inactivity, so I thought in order to keep the peace in my dungeons, it would be wise to distract you with a game.”

 

Kili tilted his head.  “What sort of game?”

 

“The only sort of game worth being played between and elf and a dwarf.”  He gestured toward a table before the fire.  “Strategy.”

 

“Are you sure you want to do that?”  Kili smirked.

 

Thranduil inclined his head.  “Prepare to lose, Son of Dis.”

 

~`~`<@

 

Losing to a dwarf was… unexpected.  Losing spectacularly to a dwarf who had likely not even seen his first century was humiliating.  Impossible!  The elf king stared at the board, wondering where he’d gone wrong.  His positioning had been perfect.  He’d been poised to crush the opposing commander’s force, and then… chaos. 

 

Thranduil looked over at his opponent, eyes narrowed.  “You cheated.”

 

Kili smirked.  “We both know that’s beneath you.”

 

The elf king huffed.  “Shall we play again?”

 

Kili’s grin grew wider.  “I’ll even let you go first.”

 

“Do not get too cocky, young one.  I have you now.”

 

“We’ll see about that.”  Kili reset the board.  “Your move.”

 

What ensued could only be described as a blood bath of earth shattering proportions, and it was only by luck that Thranduil managed his win.  He sat back, draining his glass.  “That was well played.  How is it someone your age has such a grasp on battle tactics?”

 

Kili shrugged.  “I’m going to be Fili’s Master of the Guard one day, so I needed to.”  He winced and sighed.  “Shouldn’t have said that.  Dammit.”

 

“So you are the younger prince.  Kili, yes?”

 

The young dwarf sighed, his shoulders slumping.  “Yes.”

 

Thranduil found himself wanting to take pity on the dejected prince.  “You gave nothing away, Prince Kili.  I already knew you were one of Oakenshield’s heirs, just not which one.”

 

Kili gave him a wary look.  “So what now?”

 

“Now, we drink ale out of wine glasses like civilized beings.”  Thranduil refilled their glasses.

 

The young prince snorted.  “Ale in wine glasses is civilized?”

 

“Ale is not a commonly served beverage here, young Kili.  If you want a mug of ale in a pub, I suggest you try Imladris.  Otherwise, here you get ale in a wine glass.”

 

Kili huffed and downed his ale.  “Rivendell was boring.  The music was mind numbing.  I felt like I was at a funeral.”

 

“Being that close to the West, they do tend to be more… reflective.”  Thranduil poured him another.  “And boring.  But there are some very lovely sights.”  He smirked, remembering a particularly handsome soldier with a penchant for sex under the sky.

 

The prince snorted.  “Somehow, I don’t think you mean the waterfalls or the statues.”

 

“Perhaps, or perhaps not.  That is a secret between me, a very well-endowed member of Elrond’s scouting forces, and a maid in the east wing.”

 

Kili giggled, the ale finally starting to relax him.  “How could you tell the difference?  You elves look the same to me.  Couldn’t tell the difference between a maid or a bloke to save my soul.”

 

“There are many who would say the same about dwarves.”

 

Kili shrugged.  “It’s the beards that throw folks off, I think.”

 

“Perhaps,” Thranduil nodded thoughtfully before steering the conversation to Kili’s family, expressing his regret at hearing that not even lucky hair saved young Frerin from an orc’s spear in the same battle that took Fili and Kili’s father and great grandfather.  “Your Mother is strong to have raised two young sons after suffering such losses.”

 

“She is,” Kili agreed.  “She worries about us, though.  Especially me.  She thinks I’m reckless and holds me personally responsible for the silver in her beard.”

 

“And are you?”

 

“Probably at least half of it.  I do feel a bit bad for that, actually.  Sometimes.  I can’t help it, though.  There’s so much to do and see.”  The dwarf tried to look appropriately regretful, then gave up with a sigh.  “Maybe that’s what sent Bilbo out his door after us.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Oh, that’s who your Captain said you were looking for.  The youngest one of us.  His name is Bilbo.  He was never even supposed to come, but he followed us, and it wasn’t until we were well past being able to turn around that he caught up with us.  Clever little thing he is, but he’s only fifty one, and he’s never even been far from home.  And now he’s lost in your forest.  Or worse.”

 

Thranduil sighed.  “We have scouts out searching every inch of the forest.  He will be found and returned to you.  And if, by some cruel fate, he is not, then we will purge every last one of them from the forest.  It will not bring him back, but at least those who took him from you will pay.”

 

“I’m sure his family will take great comfort in that.” 

 

“We will find him, Prince Kili.”  Thranduil reached for a bell pull to summon a guard.  “Until then, do enjoy your stay.”

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

The summons to the king’s chambers came frequently, two or three times a week, at least.  More often than not, Thranduil had some game or another ready that forced them both to sharpen their wits and battle skills.  And always an update on the search for their missing Company member, delivered by Thranduil himself, or on the rare occasion he was home, by Legolas.

 

Who hated Kili more and more as the days passed and the king’s familiarity with him grew.  The suspicious looks turned to possessive jealousy with each week, though Kili could not guess why.  The conversations between himself and Thranduil were never what could be called familial.  In fact, what had started as a way to escape the boredom of his cell and to keep the elves off Bilbo’s trail, had turned into companionship and increasingly heavy flirting.

 

Kili wasn’t sure what to make of it.  Perhaps he was over-thinking and reading too much into the elf king’s casual touches and friendly banter.  Seeing smoke where there was none.  After all, why would an elf, especially **this** elf, show any interest in a dwarf?  It was not until he’d seen the jealousy flare bright in Legolas’ eyes when Thranduil touched his wrist that he began to wonder if perhaps he wasn’t wrong at all.

 

And then he’d felt a booted foot sliding up his leg and nearly choked on his wine, glancing up at Thranduil with wide eyes.  Thranduil, who evidently couldn’t pull off an innocent look even if he wanted to.  Though judging by the foot that continued to glide up and down Kili’s leg even while its owner politely asked after his health, perhaps he didn’t want to.

 

The moment a seething Legolas had excused himself and left them, Kili squawked, standing.  “Are you mad?”

 

The king shrugged and sipped his wine.  “That depends on who you ask.  But I think we both knew where this was heading, so I suppose the real question is: are you objecting?”

 

Kili answered by invading his lap and kissing him until they were both dizzy.

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Thranduil sat back in his chair, content to sip his wine and watch Kili finish his dinner.  “Are you enjoying your dessert?”

 

He polished off the flaky pastry full of honey and nuts.  “It’s tasty.  I like the nuts.  But what was the fruit in there again?”

 

“The trader called them dates.  They are grown by the Men of the East.  Do you like them?”

 

Kili shrugged.  “They’re not bad.  The flavor takes a bit of getting used to.”  He sucked the honey residue from his fingers.  “Aren’t you hungry?  You never eat… or is it just that you never eat with me?”

 

“I have usually shared a meal with my son by the time we have our games.”  The King sipped his wine.

 

“Well, at least it’s not me.”  Kili pushed his plate away.

 

Thranduil tilted his head.  “Why would it be you?”

 

“Well, other than the fact that I beat your pants off in our last strategy game?”  The young prince shrugged.  “Everyone thinks that every meal with a dwarf ends up turning into a drunken food battle.”

 

“First,” the elf king replied, “I was not the one without his pants last time.  And to be fair, eating with dwarves does often end that way.”  He held up his hand to forestall Kili’s grin.  “In thrown food.  Though in some of the grander days of King Thror’s rule, the other option was not unheard of.”

 

Kili sniffed his wine before taking a sip.  “It depends on the Host, actually.  The uptight ones are the most fun to wind up.  Though sometimes it doesn’t have to be the Host.  We visited Rivendell once.  The lord himself was decent enough and would have gotten better with some proper ale in him.  But there was this one stuffy elf standing behind him – maybe some kind of assistant?  Servant?  Play toy?  I’m not sure.  Anyway, the music was as dull and lifeless as a grave yard, so one of our group got up and changed the mood a bit.  It was a clean tune, and completely appropriate for the occasion.  But from the look on that elf’s face, you’d have thought it was some bawdy tavern song!”

 

Thranduil snorted.  He knew exactly who Kili was referring to.  “So what did you do then, little Prince?”

 

“We showed our appreciation for a job done well.  We might have gotten a wee bit out of hand, but Lord Elrond didn’t seem to mind, and the look on that stuffy elf’s face when my curd-filled thingy hit the statue beside him was totally worth it.  I truly thought he would either cry like a babe or pitch us off the nearest waterfall.”

 

[](http://s345.photobucket.com/user/Nuinzilien/media/Worth%20It%20-%20BB2016_zps2kfrixml.jpg.html)

 

The king nodded.  “The second option, most likely.  Lindir is Elrond’s… Head of Staff.  It is his duty to ensure the Last Homely House runs smoothly, guests have what they need, and schedules are kept.  He is efficient at his duties, but he does not handle mortal chaos well.  The statue… was it at the head of the room?  To the left of Elrond’s seat?”

 

“It was!  And it was of an elf maid dressed in something I can’t imagine seeing outside of the bedroom…or a brothel.”

 

“The lady Celebrian thought the same, from what Elrond told me.  She hated it, but the statue was a gift from a young crafter from Rohan who fancied himself in love with her.”

 

“Lady Celebrian… wait… I know that name.”  Kili thought back to his history lessons.  “She… died, didn’t she?”

 

“She sailed, actually.”  Thranduil finished his wine.  “She was returning from visiting her parents in the Golden Wood when her caravan was attacked by orcs.  Her sons were able to come to her aid, but she was never able to recover fully and began to fade.”

 

“So fading is not the same as dying?”

 

The king shook his head.  “Completely different.  Assuming we are not killed in battle, an elf could live forever.  But fading… can be caused by many things.  Grief from losing a loved one, inability to cope, sometimes simple exhaustion.  But while it CAN lead to death, fading is… a piece of silk left in the sun for too long.  The fabric… the elf is still there, but the color is gone, the life leeched out of it until there is nothing left but a shade.”

 

“I’m guessing that’s where the ghost stories come from.”

 

“Ghost stories?” 

 

“Of course!”  Kili finished off his wine.  “The Mistress of the Moors, who weeps for her dead children so she takes yours.  The spectre lurking in the mist, eager to tempt the unwary traveler off the path.   Men have them about almost every valley and forest in Middle Earth.  They’ve got a hundred of them about yours.”

 

“I can imagine, now that it has become so shrouded.”  Thranduil shrugged off the morose mood and refilled their glasses.  “So, I thought we could play a different game this evening.”

 

“Tired of losing to someone a hundred times younger than you?” Kili teased.

 

//More like a thousand, actually.// Thranduil sighed, feeling exceptionally old.  “Something like that.”  He leaned in.  “So I thought tonight we would play a game of questions.”  He waved his hand upon seeing the wariness returning to Kili’s eyes after so many weeks.  “Unruffle your feathers, young Prince, not those kinds of questions.  Personal ones.  Secrets.”

 

“But what if we don’t want to answer?”

 

“Then we must suffer the consequences.  A full glass of it, I think.  Perhaps tonight we’ll see if a dwarf truly can out drink an elf.”

 

Kili snorted.  “Of course we can.  Ground rules, though.  First, only our own personal secrets.  No betraying trusts.  And if it applies to you, you have to answer it as well.”

 

“Obviously,” Thranduil said with a nod.  “No state secrets, either.  Or forcing penalty drinks by asking questions you know the other will not answer.”

 

The prince took half a second to pout, then nodded.  “Agreed.  Since you suggested the game, I ask the first question.  So what’s your favorite color?  Mine’s green.  Not like an emerald though, but like the piece of malachite a merchant showed me once.  It had odd swirls in it that made it look like waves.”

 

Thranduil blinked.  “My favorite color?  Of all of the questions you could think to ask, THAT is what you came up with?”

 

Kili huffed.  “You can’t just jump into the deep end!  You have to lead up to the hard questions!  Now answer it, Your Highness, or suffer the consequence.”

 

The king smiled.  “Blue.  My favorite color is blue.”

 

“See?  Was that so hard?  Now it’s your turn.  Ask me a question.”

 

“Yes, I do understand how this game works.  It was my idea, if you’ll recall.  So tell me, young prince, what was…”  And so passed their game of questions, with such earth shattering secrets as ‘what was your most embarrassing moment’, and ‘what would you want to do if you were not you’, which Thranduil flat out refused to answer.

 

“Oh, come on,” Kili huffed as Thranduil downed his glass of wine.  “I cannot imagine you don’t have something you’ve been embarrassed about in the last 10 million years or so.”

 

The elf king scowled.  “I am nine thousand and seventy two.”

 

“See?  Now was that truly so hard to admit?”  Kili’s grin was pure cheek.  “Though I feel a bit cheated, since I had to pry it out of you.  For that, you should have to take two drinks.”

 

“Gladly.”  Thranduil bared his teeth and poured himself another glass.  “You would drive even the Valar to drink.”

 

“So my uncle tells me.  Often and at great volume.”

 

“I can imagine.”  He sipped his wine and pondered.  “So, now my question… you are the second son.  The younger prince.  Aren’t you jealous of your brother?”

 

Kili rolled his eyes and heaved a very put-upon sigh.  “Do you know how many times I am asked that?  Why would I be jealous of him?”

 

Thranduil tilted his head.  “He is the Heir.  Future king.  His life is-”

 

“Boring!  So many rules and schedules from sun up to sun down!  Lessons on how to act in a court that doesn’t even EXIST anymore, or which old family brassed off which other old family so they shouldn’t be in the same room together but sometimes they HAVE to be and you just hope they can keep from killing everyone and then there’s ME!  I’m the younger prince, like you said.  I mean yeah, nobody really expects me to do much with my life.  Stay alive.  Try not to start any major wars, protect Fili’s back, maybe marry well, and if I have to, lead the sons of Durin into great and glorious battle in defense of our home and allies.”

 

“It sounds nice.”

 

“I imagine you would think that.  It’s not so bad, but I mean it when I say nobody really expects much out of me.  Bit boring, really, but it could be worse.  Not like a king of dwarves could be seen swinging anything but a sword or axe or hammer.”

 

Thranduil admitted that he had indeed not seen a leader of dwarves wielding anything else.  “During our games, I could not help but notice that you do not have the hands of a swordsman.  What is your weapon of choice?”

 

Kili shrugged.  “I’m fair enough with a blade, but our arms instructor had quite the fit when Mum informed him I would be taking up archery as my primary weapon.  He tried to overrule her and force me to learn the axe.”

 

The king snorted.  “I cannot picture that ending well.  Did he survive the discussion with your Mother?”

 

“Not with his position intact.  Though Uncle did manage to talk her into letting him resign his post instead of ripping off his beard or killing him.”  Kili grinned and sipped his wine.

 

“Your mother was always quite spirited in the defense of her loved ones.  So, you are an archer.”  He reached for one of Kili’s hands, stroking the callused fingertips.  “I thought these seemed familiar.  Legolas’ mother was quite skilled with a bow.  He inherited her love for it.”

 

Kili blinked in surprise.  “I thought all elves were archers.”

 

“No more so than all dwarves are axe-swinging beasts.  I prefer the long sword, like my brother.”

 

The dwarf prince perked.  “You have a brother?  I didn’t know that!”

 

“Had a brother.  He was older, and his name was Beleg.”  His smile was thin.  “He died attempting to defend our king against the Firebeards.”

 

Kili winced.  “Of course he did.  You have the worst luck when it comes to dwarves and necklaces, don’t you?  I suppose that explains why you hate us.”

 

“I don’t hate dwarves.  I have simply learned not to trust them with what is important to me.”

 

Then young prince tilted his head.  “I have wanted to ask about that.  Uncle said you tried to make a deal with him: your help against the dragon in Erebor in return for a necklace of white gems.  Why?”

 

Thranduil leaned back in his chair.  “They are not just white stones, Prince.  It is as though starlight burns within them.  My wife loved them, and I missed her.  Her name was Nimeleni.  White Star.”  He downed his wine, poured himself another glass, and quickly emptied it again.  “So, this game has turned unexpectedly morose.  Ask your next question, Prince Kili.”

 

Kili pondered for a long moment, then grinned.  “I have one.  Oh, this is brilliant.  And definitely not depressing unless you’re boring.  Are you boring?  I hope not, you’re too old to be dull.”

 

“Ask your question, princeling.”

 

“Fine, fine, Boring One.  What is your…” He leaned in closer.  “Favorite sexual position?”

 

Thranduil laughed and saluted him with his wine glass.  “Bold little dwarf.  Very well.  If you truly want to know… On my knees with my mouth full.”  He sipped his wine.  “Or on my back, depending on my mood.”

 

After a long moment of wide eyed staring, Thranduil leaned forward, snapping his fingers.  “Your turn.  Tell yours or take your drink.”

 

Kili blinked, banishing the image of the elf king kneeling between his legs with great effort.  “What?  Oh, right.  Sorry.  I’m rather flexible, really.  So if it feels good, I’m most likely going to give it a shot.”

 

Thranduil tsked.  “That was a dull answer, young Prince.  I expected better from you.  Take your drink.”

 

“I am **not** dull.  I was just… distracted by imagining you on your knees.  It’s a pretty image.”

 

The king smirked and put his drink aside.  “Understandable, I suppose.  Allow me to demonstrate.  Then you can decide if your imagination is as good as I am.”  With that, he slipped to his knees and proved that an eighty year old imagination could not hold a candle to almost nine millennia of practice.

 

~`~`~<@

 

Much later, as they lay sprawled across Thranduil’s bed, exhausted and sated, Kili tucked a strand of hair behind a pointed ear.  He stared at the perfect elven face for a moment.  “One more question?  Not part of our game, but something I noticed.”

 

Thranduil blinked at him lazily, one fine brow arching.  “Ask.”

 

Kili chewed his lip, thinking on how to word his questions.  “I have noticed that, especially when you are tired, the skin on one side of your face moves strangely.  Actually, it doesn’t move at all.  Not always, though.  Like I said, I only really notice it when you seem at your most tired.  Were you injured?”

 

The king stared at him for a moment, then huffed a small laugh.  “You archers and your eyes.  Always seeing too much.”  He sat up and leaned back against the headboard with a heavy sigh.  “I told your Uncle once that I knew well the ruin of dragon fire.”

 

Kili nodded.  “He mentioned it, and something about dragons in the north?”

 

“Indeed.  There was a war at the end of the First Age.  One of many, but perhaps also the greatest of them.  Greater even than the war that ended the Deceiver’s reign.”

 

The young dwarf nodded.  “I’ve heard of it.  Balin called it a war of wrath.”

 

“It was certainly that.  Wrath so great the world was reshaped: mountains were broken and great swaths of land fell into the sea.  The Enemy sent a number of serpents – generals all of them – to burn our forests and cut us off from our Allies.  It was during one such attack that I was injured.  It was a glancing blow, really.  I was standing too close to the fire and the radiating heat began to melt the cheek guard of the helm I wore.”  He gestured to his right cheek.

 

[](http://s345.photobucket.com/user/Nuinzilien/media/Flesh%20Wound%20-%20BB2016_zpseyobw92u.jpg.html)

 

Kili winced in sympathy.  “Were you able to get it off before it fused to your skin?”

 

“For the most part.  The healers kept me from going into shock and did what they could to heal my wounds, but they were quite severe.”

 

Kili nodded.  “I can imagine.  I’ve seen enough forge fire burns and a few who were lucky enough to survive Smaug’s attack, but not lucky enough to survive unscathed.  So you’ve got muscle damage?  Scarring?”

 

Thranduil gave a slight nod, startled at Kili’s calm acceptance.  “Both, starting from just above my eye down to the middle of my neck.”

 

Kili frowned.  “I don’t see any, though.  Did it heal after so long?  Or are you using magic?”

 

“Magic.  The sylvan elves of the Green Wood were skilled at glamours and enchantments.”

 

“Yah, we noticed that on our way in,” the dwarf grumped.

 

Thranduil hummed.  “It is becoming harder to syphon off the excess magic these days, now that the forest has darkened.  It is like rubbing cooking oil or animal fat into your skin.”

 

“Oh.  Will you show me some day?  Doesn’t have to be now, but I’d like to see you some day.” 

 

The elf king sighed, feeling as if he’d been given a reprieve.  “Perhaps.  But for now, I think it is best you return to the safety of your cell before your kin start asking too many questions.”

 

Kili sighed and nodded, reaching for his clothing.  “I suppose you’re right.  Don’t think Uncle would react well to… whatever this is between us.”

 

“You have a fine gift for understatement, Princeling.  Now go, before I change my mind and keep you here anyway.”

 

 


	2. There Is a Chance

Thranduil gave the elf standing before him an impatient look.  “Master Alren, why are you wasting my time with trivial issues like a few scraps of food missing from the larders?”

 

Legolas watched the Kitchen Master stiffen at hearing his woes deemed ‘trivial’ and barely kept his smile in check.  While he could certainly understand the elf’s frustration (he ruled the kitchens with an iron fist and took any deviation as a personal affront, so missing food must be maddening), he recalled many a smacked wrist in his youth for merely trying to sample the latest batch of treats.  He could not find it in himself to feel too terribly… besides, being the borderline sadist that he was, the King delighted in winding the poor, uptight elf ever tighter.  Alren was a hold-over from Oropher’s reign, and had always been quick to wield his spoon against pauper and prince alike, much to Oropher’s sweet-addicted son’s dismay.

 

The elf prince waited for Alren and the remaining courtiers to clear out of the chamber before approaching the antlered throne.  He climbed the steps and knelt before his king.  “That was fun to watch.”  Seeing the lazy look in his father’s eye, the younger elf placed his hands on Thranduil’s knees, sliding them up the brocade slowly.  “Push a bit harder and you might actually send him over the edge.”

 

“He needs it.”  The king watched Legolas’ hands for a moment before reaching out to run his fingers through the smooth silk of the younger elf’s hair.  “Has the missing child from Oakenshield’s traveling companions been found?”

 

Legolas sighed and leaned into the touch, his shoulders slumping.  “Not yet.  I have tasked three more scouts to join in the search, but I am not holding out much hope, Ada.  It has been almost a month since we brought the dwarves in.  The likelihood that the child is still alive is…”

 

“I know,” Thranduil said quietly.  “Keep looking.  Go into the old fortress if you must.”

 

Legolas blinked.  “You have always forbidden us from traveling there before now.”

 

“Yes, and if circumstances were different, I would still forbid it.  But the situation is as it is, so Captain Tauriel will finally get her wish.  I want the fortress cleared and the child found.”

 

Legolas frowned, puzzled.  “Ada, is this not a bit far to go for leverage against the dwarves?”

 

The hand in his hair tightened for a moment in warning before the king sighed, releasing him.  “We both know where the dwarves were headed, my son.  There is no need for leverage.”

 

The prince sat back.  “This is for your archer, then.”

 

Thranduil gave him a queer look, then stood.  “No, actually.”  He stepped around the kneeling elf and headed toward the door.  “Find the child, Prince Legolas,” he ordered in an impatient tone.  “By any means necessary.  And while you’re at it, find out who is stealing from our larders and deal with it.”

 

“As you command, Sire.”

 

The king hesitated in the doorway for a moment, his head tilting to glance over his shoulder.  “Be careful.”

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Legolas stalked down the passage toward the recently pilfered larders, the scowl on his face ensuring anyone foolish enough to get in his way quickly got out of it, lest they catch the brunt of the Prince’s foul mood.

 

The more he thought about the current situation in his home, the darker Legolas’ mood grew.  While his father’s moods had always been somewhat unpredictable, Legolas had rarely had so much difficulty understanding his intentions.  Not until the little dwarf prince had caught his eye.  That one was trouble, of THAT Legolas had no doubt.

 

Since the dwarves’ arrival – since KILI’S arrival - his king had been distracted, and even more unpredictable.  Not even Legolas could guess his moods anymore, or even redirect them into something safer – like a good bout of vigorous bed play.  That was certainly new.  And worrying.  The King had had lovers in the past, and even Legolas had had a dalliance or two, but none of it had ever come close to interfering with the special relationship between them.   Nothing ever could.

 

Or so he had thought.  Until a soft-faced, sassy-mouthed Dwarf Prince showed up at the door and threw the royal family into chaos.

 

Sighing, Legolas put thoughts of the frustrating dwarf and the ridiculous jealousy that came with him aside, instead, focusing on the missing child in the forest and Master Alren’s mysterious food thief.  Sadly, there was not much he could do about the missing child that was not already being done (and with vicious glee, if Tauriel’s expression when he’d told her to clear out the fortress was any indication).  Even if their missing dwarfling was not in the spider’s den (and Varda, he hoped not, because ew…), the beasts had grown far too bold over the centuries, so cleansing Dol Guldur’s nest would remind them who ruled the forest.

 

But until then, he had a thief to find.  The missing food itself was nothing to be overly concerned about, as traders and merchants kept the woodland realm’s larders well stocked.  But WHY was someone stealing food?  Aside from the pest problem in the southern forest, the elves of the Greenwood were enjoying their most prosperous time yet.  No one went hungry, and food was available for the asking… so why?

 

The elf prince was pulled from his thoughts by a rattling sound coming from the nearby storage room.  Legolas frowned.  This was a storage area for new deliveries.  There should be no one mucking about in these rooms until the contents had been counted and recorded.

 

He peeked into the room and smiled.  Oh, today had just become so much better.  He loved when two problems solved themselves in one go.  “You will not find your kinsman here, dwarfling.”

 

Bilbo froze, then slowly, silently turned, his thumb automatically moving to toy with his ring.  There was no way anyone could see him, not with his precious ring –

 

-in his vest pocket.  When had it gotten there?  He distinctly remembered slipping it onto his finger before going in search of a snack!  Oh, this was NOT good, not good at all!  The Company was depending on him to stay free and find an escape, and he’d gone and buggered it up just for a hand full of nuts!

 

Legolas blinked in surprise when the small figure turned.  Not a child after all!  And certainly not a dwarf, judging by smooth, soft face.  “Periannath.”

 

Bilbo bristled, puffing his chest out and staring the elf in the eye.  “That was rude!  I am not half of anything, thank you.  I am a whole Hobbit.  Complete and full.”

 

Legolas tilted his head, thoroughly amused by such a small creature taking him to task.  Rather like a squirrel barking at a fox.  “I stand corrected.  The last time any of your people came through these parts, they had no name for themselves.”

 

“Yes, well, we’ve settled and gotten ourselves sorted out a bit since then.”

 

“So it would appear.  Now tell me, Master Hobbit… are all of your people burglars and thieves, or is it a specialty of yours?”

 

“Most certainly not, Master Elf.  Other than the Sackville-Bagginses, who keep stealing my silver, burglary is certainly NOT a past time in the Shire.”  For some reason Legolas could not fathom, the Hobbit seemed quite pleased at being called a burglar.

 

“Well,” the prince responded.  “Your burgling days are behind you now, I am afraid.  Half the realm has been searching for you since we lost sight of you when the spiders attacked your group.  I am sure your dwarf friends will be much relieved to have you among them again.”

 

“Mmm…”  Bilbo fiddled with the trimming on his pocket, wondering if it was worth it to try to brazen the whole thing out.  “Rotten luck, that.  I’m quite in the middle of something, you see, and being stuck in a dungeon – no matter how pleasant a dungeon it may be – is not on my agenda. So I am terribly sorry, but I will have to politely decline.”

 

“I believe you have misunderstood me, Master Hobbit.  That was not an invitation.”

 

Bilbo could feel the cool metal of his ring pressing against his fingers through the pocket fabric.  “I didn’t necessarily hear an order, either, Master Elf.”   Inspiration struck.  “But… I think… what if there were a way we could both get what we want?”

 

“And what would that be, Master Hobbit?”  Legolas glanced down at the halfling’s pocket, his skin beginning to crawl.

 

Bilbo smiled.  “Well… I want to get my dwarves out of here, and, based on what I’ve heard over the last few weeks, you want them gotten out of here.  The King’s bed has grown a bit crowded, hasn’t it, Prince?”

 

Legolas’ eyes narrowed.  “If you think to use this to hurt –“

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened.  “No, no, no, not at all!  I was JUST saying that you have unwanted dwarves, and I will gladly take them off your hands… but, since your King has so kindly shut all of the bloody exits, I haven’t quite figured out how.”

 

Legolas pondered for a moment, then sighed, resigned to treason.  “Not all of them.”

 

“What?”

 

The elf prince turned toward the door.  “Follow me.  Hurry, and don’t be seen.”

 

~`~`~<@

 

The dwarves had just about give up hope that they would ever escape the Elf King's dungeons, a few of them even starting to wonder if it would be worth sharing a bit of information regarding their quest in order to appease the King's curiosity.  Thorin himself paced the confines of his 'cage' - comfortable and warm as it was, it was still a cage meant to keep him from his mountain - and snarled at anything passing by, be it elf guard or hobbit burglar.

 

"Well, hello to you too, then, Master Oakenshield!  Hardly a proper way to greet the fellow who is about to spring you loose, now is it?"  Bilbo huffed.

 

Thorin was at the bars in a heartbeat.  "You've found a way out?"

 

Bilbo hemmed and hawwed.  "Not quite, but I have found someone who is willing to show us the way."

 

"How do you know we can trust him?  What if he is leading us into a trap?"

 

"Master Oakenshield, if I were trying to trick you, I would just leave you in that cell to rot along with the rest of your kin," Legolas said, walking up and fitting a key to the lock.

 

The dwarf king was out the moment the door sprang open.  He gave the blond prince a suspicious look.  "How do we know we can trust you?"

 

Legolas ignored him, moving to the next cell and opening the door, then the next and then the next after that.

 

The dwarves all chattered at each other, checking family and friends for injury and reconnecting after the seemingly endless time apart.

 

"We have no time for this!"  Legolas snapped.  "Come on, before the guards return!"  He headed deeper into the dungeons.

 

"Just where are you taking us?" Bofur asked, settling his hat on his head.  "Shouldn't we be heading UP to get out?"

 

"The king has barred the gates.  Nothing enters and nothing leaves but by his will, so no, we don't want to be heading up to get out," Bilbo replied, sounding just a bit impatient and frustrated by the Dwarves' suspicion.  "Look, I promised to get you out of here, and we are getting out.  He has already shown me the way he plans to get us out of here, and I think it will work.  Please, just trust me!"

 

"We trust you, Master Baggins," Balin assured him.  "It is our escort we cannot comprehend."

 

"He has his reasons, I’m sure.  But even if he snitches on us the moment we’re out, we’ll still be out of here, won’t we?"

 

They entered what appeared to be a wine cellar and Legolas pointed to barrels.  "Get inside."

 

The dwarves all squawked in indignation.

 

"Do you want out or not?"  The elf prince huffed.

 

The dwarves looked at each other, then at their king.  Thorin eyed Legolas suspiciously.  After a moment, he began to climb into the nearest barrel.

 

The rest of the company followed suit, muttering indignant complaints the entire time.  Poor Bombur, of course, had to be lowered into his barrel by four of his companions.

 

In his barrel, Kili peered up at Legolas, clearly confused.  "Thanks for doing this.  I'm not sure how we would have gotten out otherwise.  Whatever your reasons, I'm grateful you're helping us."

 

Legolas sniffed.  "I'm not doing this for you, dwarf.  I do this for him.  You are bad for him," he whispered.  "The sooner you are gone, the sooner he can forget about you and return to his normal self.”

 

Once the thirteen dwarves and one hobbit were in their barrels, Legolas began sealing them.  "Stay down until you go over the first falls, else you will be seen.  After that, just ride the river down to Laketown.  And try not to loose the dragon on us.”

 

"We'll do our best," Bilbo squeaked from his barrel.

 

"Your best isn't good enough, Master Hobbit.  Just do it."  He pulled the lever, sending the barrels tumbling down the chute and into the water below.

 

"My Lord?"  Elros stood in the entrance.  "I am not sure those barrels were empty.  They seemed heavier than usual."

 

"Then you will have the great pleasure of explaining to our King why you failed to have 20 barrels of his wine unloaded before they were sent down river to Laketown.  Perhaps after your discussion with him, you will keep in mind that you need to make certain your tasks are fulfilled before wandering off to go get sloshed," Legolas snapped.

 

Elros glanced away as Legolas passed him.

 

The elf prince made his way up to the highest balcony and watched the barrels begin to fall.   “Prince Legolas!” a guard cried when the first dwarf’s head popped over the edge of a barrel.  “The prisoners have escaped!”

 

“So it seems.”

 

The guard blinked in surprise at Legolas’ unexpectedly mild reaction.  “But my Lord… should we not sound the alarm and pursue them?”

 

Legolas’s lips twisted into a faint and humorless smile.  “Nay, they are beyond our reach now.  Our king has ordered the borders closed.  We may not leave.”

 

An elleth walked up to stand beside Legolas.  "So this is why I was to distract Elros and Belegon?  Is this wise?"

 

"Probably not," Legolas said with a sigh, turning to her.  "But to be honest, it was right.  They have a destiny to fulfill, especially the hobbit, for he carries something evil with him.  Keeping them here would have changed that destiny.  For good or ill, I do not know... but it is not our place to interfere in The One's song."

 

"Is that the only reason, mellon?"  Tauriel asked delicately.

 

"It is the only reason that still matters.  Whatever other reason I had for doing this is moot.  They are gone."  Legolas sighed and stared out into the distance, where he could just see the barrels rounding the bend and going out of sight.  //With any luck, for good.//

 

"The King will be angry."

 

"Aye, he will... but it is not the first time I have done something to anger him.  Even if he never speaks to me again, it is what needed to be done.  He will realize it one day."

 

Tauriel shook her head.  "The two of you have such a puzzling relationship, mellon.  I cannot hope to understand it."

 

Legolas smiled.  "I stopped trying to understand it long ago.  It is what it is and what it has always been. There is no explaining it."

 

Tauriel huffed.  “You Sinda, always so vague and mysterious.”

 

He glanced at her, his brow arching.  “Troubles with Halbrod again?”

 

She sneered.  “Do not mention that elf’s name to me.”

 

Legolas noticed the way she fingered the knife at her side and wisely decided to drop the subject.  She insisted HIS relationships were complicated, but whatever strange bond lay between Tauriel and her sometimes-lover defied explanation.  He would call it strange, perhaps even unhealthy, but he liked his testicles right where they were, so he kept his opinion to himself.

 

He squinted, focusing on something moving in the distance.  He spat out a curse.  “Orcs!”

 

Tauriel spun, barking orders to the nearby guards, who jumped to do their captain’s bidding.

 

The elf prince checked his knives, grabbed a quiver of arrows from the nearest weapons rack just inside the doorway (bless Tauriel’s paranoid heart), and jumped from the balcony onto the grass below.  Time to clean up his mess before one of the twisted filth managed to shoot the young dwarf prince.  His Father truly would never forgive him then.

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Thranduil watched from the window in his private study as his Heir and Captain of the Guard led a group of elves out into forest, despite his explicit orders to stay within the safety of the palace.   He felt a flash of irritation at having his direct orders disobeyed. 

 

Yet, mixed in with the irritation was pride.  His son was young and brash, and would reap the consequences of disobedience, but Thranduil was proud of him nonetheless.  He was loyal to his forest and the elves trying to live there in peace. Though the King often disagreed with Legolas’ method of keeping the peace.  The younger elf would much rather fling himself headlong into the face of danger wherever it may lurk.  Such was the folly of youth, thinking himself invincible and confident that all enemies would fall beneath the sharpness of his knives and the quickness of his bow.  Thranduil prayed that the powers ruling this world would prove the younger elf right… but even as he prayed, he plotted.  If his son had time to chase after small orc packs when he knew certainly well that the Forest would destroy them before they reached the elven sanctuary, then he clearly was not training hard enough.  Or perhaps he needed more responsibilities.  There were certainly parts of ruling that Thranduil would be more than happy to pass off to his heir.  Like reviewing treaties (always such a long, dull task that his own Adar had barely been able to wait for Thranduil’s majority before foisting upon him), or mediating tiny, ultimately insignificant disputes between the elves of their realm.  Aye, that could work quite nicely.

 

“Sire!”  Meneldir hurried into his study.  Just as Thranduil was prepared to turn on him and express his irritation with the intrusion, the elf bowed low.  “Forgive me, Sire, but the dwarves have escaped.”

 

“Escaped?  And how did they managed to do that, Meneldir?  They were under lock and key in the dungeons.  Dungeons none have escaped from since they were built.”

 

The elven guard hesitated.

 

“I asked you a question, warrior.  **How** did our prisoners escape?”

 

Meneldir only barely kept himself from cringing as he said “Someone took the keys and released them, Sire.”

 

Thranduil’s brow arched.  Though it was the only possibility that made sense (at least, the last time he checked dwarves could not take forms and sneak out or vanish into the mist like istari.), he certainly did not like the idea that there was a traitor among this guards.  “Find the traitor and bring them to me.  I’d like to hear what they have to say.  I also want those dwarves back in their cells by nightfall.”

 

Meneldir clenched his fists.

 

The King hummed.  “You know who the traitor is, I take it?”

 

“I… am not certain I would use the term traitor, but aye, Sire.  Or at least, I have a theory.”

 

Clearly this was a theory he was not going to like all that much.  “Well, tell me then.  Who let the dwarves out?”

 

“Sire… it was Prince Legolas.  I believe.  Sire.”

 

Legolas.  Legolas let the dwarves – his KILI – go out into the forest, where trees were raging over the defilement of the Southern Reaches by whatever dwelled in the ruins of Dol Guldur.  To be chased and possibly killed by orc filth daring to trespass on HIS lands and kill HIS game.  Surely not.  His son knew how much the younger dwarf prince fascinated him.  He would never do such a foolish, vindictive thing.

 

Thranduil frowned, not liking the thought.  “I would advise you to tread carefully and be very certain of your findings.  I will give you a moment to re-examine your proof.  Then tell me again who let the dwarves out.”

 

Meneldir started to sweat a bit in silence.  After a moment, the nodded and sighed.  “Aye, Sire, I stand by my claim.  I believe that Prince Legolas took the keys from Elros and released the dwarves.”

 

“Why?”

 

Meneldir hesitated.  “I am not certain of his motives yet, Sire.”

 

“NO, not why did he do it.  Why do you come to me accusing my son – Your future King – of treason.  Because that is what it would be, Meneldir.  To go against my direct orders and release my prisoners would be nothing short of it.  What possible proof do you have to support such wild claims?”

 

“Elros, my King.  I spoke to him and reprimanded him for being away from his post guarding the captives.  He said that the Captain ordered him and the others to investigate the lower halls with her for noises.  She said she would have Caliard and Goden replace them.”

 

“But Caliard and Goden have barely trained enough to keep from stabbing themselves with their own blades.  Why would they be standing guard over state prisoners as valuable as Thorin Oakenshield and his dwarves?”

 

“That is what I asked, but they were taking Captain’s orders at face value.”

 

“Very well, so my captain of the guard is a traitor.  She will be dealt with.  Now tell me why you believe my son released the dwarves.”

 

“Because just as they were leaving, Elros said Prince Legolas approached him and asked for the cell keys.  He said you wished to interrogate the dark-haired prince further and Prince Legolas was to bring him to you.”

 

“I made no such request, Meneldir.”

 

The guardsman bowed his head.  “I have come to realize that, Sire.  But Elros had no reason to think otherwise, so he gave Prince Legolas the keys and followed Tauriel and the others.  It was not until they returned that they found the Prince standing beside the lever that releases the empty wine barrels bound for Laketown into the river.  When Elros made comment that the barrels sounded heavy, as if they were still full, the Prince told him that he should then be prepared to explain to you why the barrels had not been emptied of the wine before being sent back.  That you would be wroth with them for wasting your wine.”

 

Thranduil privately admitted to himself that it was likely to be the case.  “So your belief is that the barrels were full of dwarves.”

 

“Aye, sire.”

 

Thranduil took a moment to savor the mental image of Oakenshield and the sons of Fundin being shoved into wine barrels.  Oh **that** would stick with him for quite some time.  Perhaps he’d even have one of the craftsmen paint it on a wall in his study.  For the sake of posterity, of course.

 

He sighed and cast the thought away for the moment.  “So Oakenshield hid his dwarves in barrels and Prince Legolas was seen standing beside the lever that releases them into the river bound for the Lake.  And our Captain of the Guard asked members of her guard to investigate the strange noises coming from the lower halls – which is a reasonable request, since the Lower Halls should be empty.  These are strange coincidences, but coincidences they still are.  Tell me how these then add up to my son releasing my prisoners?”

 

Meneldir began to look terribly nervous.

 

Thranduil’s smile was as cold as the Helcaraxe in Rhîw and just as humorless.  “As I thought.  Perhaps it would be best if you removed yourself from my presence and did not return until you have actual proof of the one responsible for releasing my prisoners, rather than wild, fanciful claims based on circumstance and coincidence.  Leave.”

 

Duly chastened and fearing for his career (and possibly even his life, given how mercurial their King could be at the best of times), Meneldir spun on his heel and headed for the study chamber door.

 

“And Meneldir?”

 

The elf froze.  “Aye, Sire?”

 

“Perhaps you should also investigate the pantry thefts.  To my knowledge, they are still occurring and the culprit has not been found?”

 

“Aye, as you wish Sire.”

 

“Do not make me tell you how to perform your duties again.”

 

Meneldir stiffened, nodded, and headed out.

 

The Elf king sighed and returned to staring out the window of his study.  He knew exactly who was responsible for the dwarves’ – Kili’s – release.  He had hoped Legolas’ jealousy would not lead him to do something so foolish – and indeed treasonous – as this.  Perhaps if he had discussed what was happening with his young heir, it would have ended differently.  Legolas would not have doubted the sincerity of his Adar’s fascination with the young dwarf prince, nor would he have questioned and feared for his own position in Thranduil’s affections, but such was the clarity of reflection.

 

Ultimately, it meant nothing, because the die had been cast.  Oakenshield would take his young prince into Smaug’s monstrous lair in the hopes of stealing a treasure horde.  Or at least the King’s jewel, which was one and the same.  The foolish dwarf would get himself and his companions killed.  Get Kili killed.  Burned in dragon fire like the rest of his kin, all for the sake of a mountain home.

 

And what of the surrounding areas?  Dale was long gone, but what of the Men of the Lake?  They had survived long, arduous years of famine and corruption.  And soon their home would be burned out yet again.  Children would scream, Mothers would weep, and they would die, either by fire or ice.

 

Unable to bear standing there one more moment, Thranduil stalked from the room.  He traveled the myriad halls and passages that made up his kingdom until he at last reached his ‘special’ room.  The room none but the King was permitted to enter (though Thranduil had never seen anything wrong with allowing his Heir to join him there, or on one particularly memorable occasion, his Queen).  His place of power.

 

All of Greenwood’s rulers had used this chamber to attune themselves with the forest around them.  When his Adar had taken over leadership of the Nandorin elves of Greenwood, the sylvan king had shown him how to use the room to tap into the forest’s ancient knowledge and power.  Within this great bower lay a single tap-root, a long solid tendril of Elder tree, from whom all in the forest sprang.  Because Elder Tree WAS all trees in Greenwood, and all trees in Greenwood were the many manifestations of Elder.  They all served as the Woodland King’s eyes and ears, their many voices filtering down into this one root.  Thranduil had joined his Adar here on many occasions, learning how to listen with both ear and spirit.  And in return, he had begun to bring Legolas.

 

Thranduil stripped and bathed himself, clearing the chaos from his mind as he knelt before the massive tree root.

 

*Your thoughts are scattered like leaves to the wind today, sapling.*

 

The elf king sniffed a bit in amusement.  Not many these days could call him a youth, but Elder did as he wished, and it would take far more than the likes of Thranduil to make the old tree change his ways.  “Aye, I suppose they are.  These are windy times, old friend, and it seems storm clouds are creeping ever closer.”

 

*Storm clouds.  This is why your seedling and his companion chase the twisted along the river?*

 

“Among other reasons… though I fear this is but a harbinger of fouler things to come.”

 

*I know, sapling, I know.  Rot spills forth from the Hill and spreads unchecked through my branches.  The south is gone entirely.  The vermin destroy any new growth that tries to sprout there.*

 

Thranduil felt more than a bit of guilt for that.  He’d given admittedly little thought to the southern territories.  His elves had enough difficulty keeping the spider filth from invading his realm without also policing the rest of the forest.  “I will reach out to my kinsman in Lothlorien.  Perhaps between the two of our realms, we can begin to clear it.”

 

*Your seedling said something similar during his last visit.  He worries about many things.  Particularly the young male who has caught your attention.*

 

“There is nothing for him to worry about.  Even if something more permanent were possible between myself and Kili, nothing would change for my son.”  Thranduil rolled his shoulders and stretched out on the floor beside the root.  “Where are they now?”

 

*On the river.*

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Legolas dispatched the last of his prey with a vicious twist of his knives before kicking the lifeless body into the underbrush.  He wiped the black blood from his blades and sheathed them, walking toward the dwarves who were just beginning to pull themselves from their barrels.  “Hurry up, the daylight is waning fast.”

 

Several of the dwarves gave him sour looks.  “What concern is it to you whether or not we waste daylight?” Oakenshield demanded.

 

“Because the quicker you are out of my forest, the better.  If you had not noticed, trouble and the spawn of Azog stalk you like wolves.”

 

“Judging by our welcoming committee, you’ve already got trouble,” Nori grumbled.

 

Kili squeezed the water from his shirt.  “Just give us a minute to dry out some and we’ll be on our way.”

 

“There is no time!” Tauriel called out, picking her way across the rocky shoreline.  “I followed the last of the orcs until they joined with another group.  You need to go now!  It will not take long for them to regroup.”

 

The dwarves groaned and began to collect themselves again.

 

Legolas handed his bow and the remains of his quiver to Kili, then tossed the sheathed Orcrist to Thorin.  “Your best chance is to make for Laketown.  There, you will be able to rest and resupply.  If you’re smart, you will head on to the Iron Hills or go back where you came from.  The mountain is lost.”

 

“You worry only for your precious forest,” the dwarf king sneered.

 

“Of course I do.  Whatever grudge you may have against our king, there are hundreds of innocents who do not –“  Legolas broke off.  “If you wake that dragon, you will kill us all.”  He pulled a pouch of coin from his vest and tossed it to Balin.  “If you try to go around the Lake, your hunters will overtake you.  Follow the river for three more miles.  A bargeman will be waiting to ferry the barrels back to Laketown.  Use that to pay his fare.  Or bribe the Master of the Lake.  He is blinded by gold easily enough.”

 

Thorin gave him a suspicious look, then reached and pulled their burglar to his feet.  “Alright!  Let’s move on.  We can rest later.”

 

Legolas turned away and disappeared back into the trees, Tauriel on his heels.  “Are you sure this was wise, my Prince,” she asked once they were out of earshot.

 

“Not at all,” he replied.  “But it was necessary.”

 

“The King will not be pleased about this.”

 

“I know.”  He sighed and trudged on.

 

//You have no idea.//

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Thranduil sat up and sighed.  “He sends them to Laketown and expects them not to make a play for the Mountain.”  He rubbed at his eyes.  “I had not thought him to be so naïve.”

 

*He is not,* said Elder.  *He knows they will continue on to storm the dragon’s lair.  It is their fate.*

 

“It is their fate to burn?  To unleash the dragon and doom us all to flame?”  The King stood and began to pull his clothes on.  “They were not part of The One’s song.  They do not have destinies.”

 

*They have a purpose, sapling.  All things do.*

 

“Kili’s fate is **not** to die in dragon fire.”

 

*But he WILL die eventually.  He is not like you.  He will bloom for a moment and then fade when his season is done.*  The old tree’s voice held a note of pity.

 

“Then at least he will have bloomed.”

 

Elder sighed.  *You cannot keep them from facing the dragon.  It must be done.  But there is more than one threat to your bloom, is there not?*

 

“The orcs.”  Thranduil nodded.  “They will fall upon the dwarves like beasts.”  He straightened his robe.  Now THAT he could do something about!

 

The king paused at the entrance to the chamber.  “As always, your wisdom is invaluable.”

 

*Good luck, sapling.*

 

~`~`~<@  ~`~`~<@

 

Thranduil was knee deep in orc blood when shouts of his name drew his attention.  He gutted his last attacker, kicking it aside before turning to the new arrival.  “What now, Mithrandir?”

 

The Gray Pilgrim hurried toward him, Oakenshield’s Halfling in tow.  “Thranduil!  You must dispatch your warriors to Raven Hill at once!”

 

“My elves are not your courier birds, Wizard.  And if you had not noticed, we are busy at the moment, so I suggest whatever message you need delivered there, you should do it yourself.”

 

“But you MUST help them, my Lord!” the Hobbit cried.  “Thorin, Fili, Kili and Dwalin have gone there to challenge the Orc leader!”

 

“I understand your concern, Master Baggins, but surely four dwarves – two of whom are well-seasoned fighters – can handle a few orcs standing between them and their target.”  The Elf king flicked thick black sludge from his blade with a moue of disgust.  Honestly, even their blood was greasy and reeked of decay.

 

  “But it isn’t just a few orcs!” Bilbo pleaded.  “There is another army led by Bolg circling around from the North.  They will be trapped!”

 

“How many?”  The king glanced around, eyeing his forces in the area.

 

“Two hundred, perhaps even three.  PLEASE, you must hurry!”

 

//Kili…// Thranduil strode over to where his son was stationed (he most certainly did NOT run, thank you!)  “Legolas!”

 

The younger elf was pulling arrows from nearby corpses.  “The high street is clear for now, my King.”

 

“Good.”  Thranduil looked toward Raven Hill, watching four ram-riders climb the steep cliffs.  “It appears Oakenshield is trying to take out their leader, despite the army that stands between them.  Take your quiver and find a nest up there.  Make sure they are not followed.”  He pointed to a tower.  “There.  That will give you the best vantage.”

 

The prince nodded and gathered as many arrows as he could carry.  He gave his father a look.  “I will do my best to keep your dwarf safe.  I know he is important to you.”

 

Thranduil placed his hand on his son’s shoulder, and kissed him softly.  “Do not make yourself a target, Legolas.  He is not the only one who I hold dear.”

 

[](http://s345.photobucket.com/user/Nuinzilien/media/Careful%20-%20BB2016_zpsr8gurv8o.jpg.html)

 

A sorely missed smile twinkled in his son’s eyes.  “You’re just saying that.”

 

The king smirked.  “You’re right, I am.  Now go while there is still time.  I will join you as soon as I may.”

 

Legolas stole one more kiss before running off, dodging around pockets of fighting as he made his way up to the Hill.   Thranduil watched him settle into position before turning his attention back to the battlefield, the terrified shrieks of children pulling him down an alley, drowning out the sounds of an argument between Hobbit and Wizard.

 

~`~`~<@

 

Kili parried another attack, barely registering the arrow buzzing past his ear and the thud of a body dropping behind him.  He glanced back at the now dead goblin, then in the direction the arrow had come from, and nodded.  So, for whatever reason, Thranduil’s son had chosen to help.  Kili would take the time to be suspicious about it later.  For now, an archer at his and Fili’s backs was an archer at their backs, even if it was an elven one.

 

He fought side by side with his brother, his energy beginning to flag as the many nicks and bruises took their toll.  He could hear his Uncle trading blows with the Defiler, and Dwalin’s bellows of berserker rage were far enough away that help wasn’t likely to be coming from him any time soon.

 

As he fended off an attacker, he heard Fili yelp beside him, followed by the snarl of a warg.  The dark haired prince turned and stabbed at the beast attacking his brother, sparing a brief moment to glare up at the elven archer for his lack of diligence (though to be fair, the poor elf WAS busy dealing with his own assailant, but who wanted to be fair when his brother was hurt?)

 

The shock and fear on Fili’s face barely registered before pain exploded in his chest.  The air seized in his lungs, and Kili knew no more.

 

~`~`~<@

 

“KILI!!!”

 

The anguished cry was a knife to the elven king’s heart.  He knew what that cry meant, having uttered one of his own upon seeing is sire fall at the hands of the orcs of Mordor.

 

He glanced up at the tower and saw no one.  Fear lent urgency and viciousness to his sword as Thranduil fought through the city, making his way far too slowly to the path leading up to the watch towers.

 

Saying prayers to every Valar he could think of (and making up a few as he went, because really, at this point it couldn’t hurt), Mirkwood’s king followed the sounds of fighting up to a pavilion, where his heart nearly stopped entirely.

 

The Halfling defended his fallen king, swinging his blade wildly at anyone or anything that came near.  Oakenshield had at least had the decency to end the Defiler’s reign for good before being impaled by the pale orc’s spear.  The dwarf’s breathing was shallow but for the moment, it would do.

 

The blond dwarf – Kili’s elder brother, if Thranduil recalled correctly – lay curled around his younger sibling, bleeding from a number of deep wounds, including a rather nasty warg bite.  His hand lay against Kili’s side, as if trying to stem the flow of blood pulsing from it.

 

Legolas and the dwarf berserker were handling the remains of Bolg’s army, so the Elf King knelt beside Thorin and checked his pulse.  It was there, and steady enough for now.  “Halfling….Halfling!”

 

Bilbo spun on him, eyes wild.

 

“You have defended your King and he still lives.  You must go find Mithrandir.  Find the wizard!”

 

“But… Thorin…”

 

“Is alive for the moment, but will not be if you continue to dawdle!  The spear is keeping the wound sealed, but he cannot be moved like this.  Now go, before even that is not enough!”

 

Bilbo nodded and ran.

 

Thranduil moved to Fili and Kili.    For Fili there was not much he could do without something to cleanse the warg bite, so he tore a piece of fabric from his cloak and bound the deepest wound in his leg before turning his attention to Kili.

 

His poor lover was pale and shivering.  Thranduil assessed him quickly.  The young archer had persevered, though his body was riddled with injuries.  There were at least six arrows sticking out from various body parts, though thankfully none had managed to hit his heart or neck.  There was a nasty slice wound on his arm and a cut bisecting his eyebrow bled sluggishly.  But the most worrying appeared to be a deep knife wound piercing his side.  The blood leaked steadily, turning the snow and mud around them dark.  

 

The elf king quickly shed his cloak, folding the fabric and packing it tightly against the injury.  Next, he bound the wound on Kili’s arm and cleaned the blood seeping from his brow before focusing on the arrows.  This was not going to be pleasant.  They were crudely made, the barbed shafts designed to do more damage coming out than going in.  Nasty, hateful craftsmanship, but certainly effective.  It would take nearly every bit of healing skill he possessed to bring Kili out of this alive and hopefully with as little lingering damage as possible.  He hoped.

 

The first arrow Thranduil tried to remove came out easily enough, the padding of Kili’s armor having taken most of the impact.  The arrow head had just barely pierced his flesh.  He bound the wound and moved on.  The next two arrows were much the same, being easily removed with only a bit of trauma with removing the third arrow, as it had sank in deeply enough that the barbs had just begun.  He bound them as quickly as he could, then assessed the final three.

 

They would not be easy.  The orc archers had managed (probably with blind, dumb luck) to find the small vulnerabilities in Kili’s borrowed armor.  It was clearly designed for a much shorter and broader dwarf, leaving his thighs dangerously unprotected.  An arrow was lodged firmly in his thigh just below the chest piece’s ‘skirt’ and above the leg guards.  Thranduil said a prayer as he broke off the majority of the shaft.  If it had pierced the vital artery there, there was nothing even Elrond’s fabled healing ability could do to save Kili from the vile orc poisons the King could already smell on his breath, much less Thranduil’s own.

 

He snapped the shafts of the remaining arrows, then carefully brushed the bloody, grime-caked hair from Kili’s brow.  “Foolish young dwarf.”

 

Hazy eyes peered up at him through slitted lids.  “Mypndgason,” Kili slurred.

 

“Later, princeling.”  Thranduil leaned in, grazing his nose against Kili’s for a moment before moving to whisper in his ear.  “I am not yet finished with you, little dwarf.  Whatever insults you have for me will have to wait until you are awake enough to enjoy my reactions.”

 

[](http://s345.photobucket.com/user/Nuinzilien/media/Not%20Finished%20Yet%20-%20BB2016_zpsjk6kwbcf.jpg.html)

 

“My King!”  Legolas’ voice intruded upon their moment.  “The battle is over,” he said once he had Thranduil’s attention.  “There are still small pockets of fighting, between our forces and stragglers, but the eagles have routed the bulk of Azog’s forces.  We could not find Bolg, so the scum is either buried under a pile of his dead kin or has slithered away for the moment to lick his wounds.”

 

“Our losses?”

 

Legolas sighed.  “By looking over the field, I’d say heavy, though the bulk appears to be among Lord Dain’s army.”

 

Thranduil eyed Legolas, clearly not liking the way he was rubbing his wrist.  "And you, my son?"

 

Legolas smiled.  "Merely a sprain, Ada. From my fall from the tower.  I am fine, and the pain did not hinder me any."

 

"You fell from the tower?"

 

"Aye, when the Troll ran into it.  It got me mostly across the gap.  The rest I did on my own, but I landed roughly.  I will be fine."

 

"Aye, you will after you let me look at it.  But for now, help me to get Oakenshield stabilized.  We cannot remove the spear without doing more harm, but we need to get them to a healing tent."

 

Legolas' eyes slanted over to Kili and Fili for a moment, a question shining clearly.

 

Thranduil's lips tightened.  "They live.  Though more than one of the arrows in him was tipped and barbed."

 

The younger elf sighed.  "Of course they were.  Why wouldn't they be?"  He bent down to inspect the spear piercing the dwarf king's chest.  "It appears to have missed his heart, so at least there is that."

 

"Then there is still hope that we may yet be able to save them all," Gandalf said as he strode up, the hobbit scurrying behind him.

 

Legolas had just finished packing the area and wrapping it tightly.  "How sharp is your axe, master dwarf?"

 

Dwalin blinked, his already craggy face spattered with black blood.  "Eh?"

 

The young prince rolled his eyes.  "If the king and I support the spear in place, can you cut through it without also slicing our necks?"

 

Dwalin snorted.  "I'm not that sloppy, even after a battle like this.  I won't behead you... accidentally."

 

Bilbo whined in distress.  "Really, Master Dwalin, they are trying to help for the moment, I don't think this is the right time for joking."

 

Dwalin's expression clearly said he wasn't joking, but he let it pass.  "Just show me where to cut and I'll get it done."

 

The two Sindarin elves moved into place, Legolas indicating the mark.  "Here."

 

The dwarf berzerker nodded.  "Aye, consider it done...though ye might want to duck, yer highness.  I'd hate to give you a trim."

 

Thranduil's brow arched in amusement... but he did as suggested, settling himself low to the ground.  "If you castrate my son, I will raze your mountain to the ground."

 

"Gentlemen, please, save your bantering for later!" Gandalf huffed.  "We must hurry before night falls.”

 

Dwalin checked Grasper, then switched to Keeper, nodding his approval at the blade's condition.  "Brace it."

 

Despite their best efforts to keep it still, the pike still jerked when the dwarven axe connected, though to his credit, the cut was swift and fairly clean.  Below them, Thorin wheezed and passed out.

 

Thranduil examined the entry point.  "It still holds.  Let us move quickly."

 

After a whispered prayer from Gandalf (or curse, who could tell with the way he babbled in that ancient language of his), Thranduil lifted the fallen king slowly, trying not to jar the spear shaft.  He turned, seeing Dwalin cradling Fili tenderly and Legolas holding Kili.   He nodded to the wizard.  "Let us go."

 

Bilbo followed anxiously, flitting from Fili to Kili to Thorin and wringing his hands.

 

"Burglar!"  Dwalin barked, growing irritated.  "Run ahead and find Oin.  Tell him we've injured incoming."

 

“Oin.  Right.”  Said hobbit was off at a sprint, short legs carrying him down the hill toward Dale with remarkable speed.

 

The group picked its way down the hill carefully, stopping twice to replace the packing on Kili’s wounds and check the stability of the spear in Thorin’s chest.  “We need to move more quickly,” Legolas warned.  “He is growing weaker.”

 

They moved as quickly as they dared down the rough, icy steps towards the city’s ruins.  As soon as the group passed through the gate, Thranduil was barking orders to have his tent prepared to receive the injured dwarf royals.  Elves scrambled this way and that to obey, nearly trampling poor Bilbo and an irate old dwarf, who bellowed his outrage.  “Oi, unhand him, ye washed out scarecrow!”

 

Thranduil ignored him, striding past and into the tent, followed quickly by Legolas and Dwalin.  The injured dwarves were placed on low cots.  He directed his attendants quietly, watching while they un-raveled bloody bandages and cut away soiled cloth under Oin’s watchful eye.

 

The elf king turned his attention to Kili, who (despite the pole sticking out of his uncle’s chest) seemed to be the worst off.  He set about stripping and cleansing the many small wounds, stitching the cut over his eye.  It would heal, and the scar would give him a roguish appeal.

 

Thranduil checked the small scrapes and arrow wounds, cleaning them thoroughly.  He frowned at the inflamed skin around them.  "I need ath-"

 

"-thelas?" Legolas finished, holding out a bowl of water and a fist-full of the plant.  "This was all I could find for the moment, but I have a number of others looking as well, and once I am finished here, Beleg and I will search the ruins of Laketown.  I believe I heard Bard say they use it as feed for pigs."

 

"Pigs?" Thranudil asked, incredulous.  "They use Kingsfoil to feed pigs."

 

"Aye, I know, but with the kings of Gondor gone, so went their knowledge of its uses."

 

"Go then.  But be careful.  The fire will have weakened the town's supports."

 

"You worry too much, Adar."  Legolas fled quickly.

 

Thranduil began to clean the greenery off, pinching the tiny white flowers to be made into tea later.  He soaked the leaves and stems, mashed them into paste, then began carefully applying it to the inflamed injuries, packing it lightly.  He chanted old prayers and songs, asking the Valar to watch over the young life before him and to show mercy.

 

"What is it you're doing there?" the old dwarf healer asked, curious.  Thranduil did not answer

 

"Athelas is one of our most ancient of medicines," an attendant responded.  "My Lord is using it to draw the poisons from your prince's body.  The orc arrows were tipped in toxins.”

 

"Athelas, ye say?  But... is it truly that powerful?  We use it to brew teas for grippe and lung ailments."

 

"That is one use, aye.  My lord has kept the blooms for just such a use.  We will often use it for restorative teas as well.  But the true power is not in the bloom, but in the leaf and stem.  The plant's sap will draw the poisons from the blood and the leaves absorb it.  Once they turn black, we will replace them with fresh."

 

"How effective is it?  Is there a time limit before it will no longer help?"

 

The attendant shrugged.  "The longer you wait, the less it is able to draw out.  Once the toxin has circulated through the blood, only a powerful healer can have a chance of healing the patient."

 

Oin gave Thranduil a wary eye.  "I thought it was the other Elf Lord who had the power to heal?  The dark haired half-elf in Rivendell."

 

"Lord Elrond's healing power is formidable, aye...but all kings have an ability to heal, be it the body or the spirit.  My Lord Thranduil's ability to heal is channeled more to the land around us, but he can also draw upon it during times of great need, such as this one."

 

“"Yes, and the sound of the two of you babbling in the background is certainly not helping my concentration.  Now either cease the prattling or leave.  This is a sick room, not a social gathering or a teaching room."

 

The attendant winced.  "Forgive me, my Lord."

 

The elderly dwarf seemed like he wanted to say something in return, but elected to keep his thoughts to himself.  Thranduil supposed if an irritable healer was trying to save three of his elves, he would probably hold his tongue as well.  Probably.  Possibly.  Actually, his poor elves would likely die.  Fortunately for him, that was not the case.

 

He turned his attention back to Kili, moving down to the open, inflamed thigh injury.  He cleaned it, reached for a knife, and carefully began to hunt for and remove the poisoned arrowhead. 

 

A much quieter Oin approached, nervous.  “Watch your hand, my lord.  Dwarves have 2 veins running through here.  If you don’t mind?”  He gestured.

 

Thranduil blinked and pulled back, nodding.  “Proceed.”

 

Oin pointed to two spots on Kili's leg.  "The veins run from here down through the knee and toward his ankle.  It appears as though the arrow has missed the anterior vein, but this one back here is very, very close to where your knife is headed.  If the arrow has pierced it, we are beyond hope.  But even if not, your knife could do as much damage as anything else, so please have a care with it.”

 

"Understood.  How much clearance?"

 

"Not much.  You need to fish the arrowhead out, but you will need to be careful.  There's barely a finger's length between the two veins and the calf muscles.  Try not to cripple the lad."

 

"I will not.  But he may end up walking with a limp regardless.  There is only so much I can do if the muscle is torn."

 

“Aye.  We know the risks of war and battle.  And this is not Kili's first battle, either.  Just the first one without his own armor and in close combat.   He did well, from what I hear.”

 

"Aye, he did," Legolas said, walking in.  He began to clean and prepare another bundle of athelas.  “They both did, actually.  It was only after I ran out of arrows and had to defend my own perch that I lost sight of them in the crush of wargs and goblins.  But from what I saw, the elder brother is a capable swordsman and has a vicious set of knives.”

 

On the bed, Kili stirred at that and smiled faintly.  “S’true,” he slurred.  “F’liuwuthkuhssly…”  He grunted and groaned, passing out as Thranduil began fishing for the arrowhead again.

 

Oin glanced over at the attendant who had been so helpful.  “Did **you** catch what he was saying?”

 

The attendant shrugged.  “It sounded dwarvish to me, Master Healer.”

 

“That wasn’t dwarvish, Penrod. That was gibberish.  Though the two are alike enough that your confusion is forgivable,” Thranduil corrected him.

 

The old dwarf grunted and glared, but kept his peace.  After all, the elf king did have a knife buried in Kili’s thigh… though whether the Sindarin king was trying to kill the poor lad or trying to save him, Oin rightly couldn’t tell.  He was leaning towards saving, as the youngest prince wasn’t dead yet, but he decided to keep a close eye on the sneaky elf between helping his other patients.  Speaking of, he had a King and Heir to tend to.

 

Thranduil continued to work on Kili’s leg, only barely acknowledging the other healers except to bark out orders for more salve and less conversation.  After what seemed like ages, he was finally able to locate and remove the arrowhead.  By some miracle, it HAD actually missed both veins, and with a little luck (which the line of Durin seemed to carry in an overabundance), the young warrior would escape his ordeal with a few new scars and a slight limp.

 

The elven king straightened and rolled the tension from his shoulders as his attendants moved in to finish wrapping Kili’s injuries with herb soaked bandages.  Thranduil stepped away and moved toward the cot bearing the wounded king.  He spared a quick glance at the third patient, nodded in quick approval at Legolas’ tending of Fili’s bite wounds, and then turned his attention to Thorin.

 

Aule had created his children to endure great hardships, and Thranduil was fairly certain that was the only reason the dwarf king still drew breath.  The spear had gone clear through.  Unfortunately, Thranduil suspected that was the ONLY good news.

 

“The spear will likely have nicked his lung,” Oin shouted.

 

“I can see that.”  The elf king pondered.  “The spear is the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.  We cannot remove it.”

 

“Ai, but if we leave it, the wound will infect and he will **wish** he had simply bled out!  We cannot leave it.”  The old dwarf huffed.  “We will need to go at this from both directions, then.”

 

“It… could work,” he admitted reluctantly.  “Though messy.  And painful.”

 

Oin glanced toward his unconscious king.  “He’s out anyway…”

 

Thranduil sighed.  “Fine, we do this by halves.”  He pointed to a waiting attendant.  “You.  Find someone to grind this shaft down to two inches at most.  We are going to pull it through, so the shorter the distance the better our chances are of not making the injury worse.  Halfling!” He called out, startling the poor hobbit.  “I need herbs to slow the bleeding and stave off infection.  And packing for the wound.”

 

Bilbo blinked and nodded.  “I think I saw yarrow and cat’s claw growing in Dale.”

 

“You have ten minutes to find it.”

 

“Done.”  The hobbit dashed out, calling for two of his companions to join in the search.

 

Thranduil directed an attendant to prepare water and bandages, then began to discuss the procedure with the old healer.

 

“I have it!” Bilbo crowed, pushing his way through the tent flap, quickly followed by a limping Wizard.  “I found them.  Yarrow and cat’s claw.  And I even found calendula to infuse the bandages!”  He held the herbs out to the nearest attendant, then went to check on Fili and Kili.

 

Gandalf made his way over to the two healers. He knelt at the dwarf king’s bedside and let his hand hover over Thorin’s eyes for a moment, his own growing unfocused.  After a long moment, he sighed, his shoulders relaxing a bit.  “Ah, there you are.  Stubborn dwarf.”

 

“It may yet be the stubbornness of dwarves that saves him, Mithrandir,” Thranduil informed him.  “His injuries are severe.”

 

“Well yes, a spear to the chest usually is.  How can it be removed without killing him?”

 

“An inch at a time.”  The elf king gestured to the spear shaft.  “We cannot pull it out without risking further damage from splintering wood.  His heart remains intact and whatever damage was done to his lung was not enough to collapse it, or else he would already be dead.”

 

“You’re going to push it through, then?” Gandalf asked, shaggy brows arching.  “Even if the spear shaft does not do any further harm, he will still bleed out before you can close it.”

 

“Yes, thank you for telling me.  I certainly had not considered that possibility.”  Thranduil gave him an impatient look.  “We are going to push the shaft midway and do what we can for the first half of the wound.  Then we will turn him, pull the remaining length of wood out, and treat the rest.”

 

“That still sounds very risky…”

 

Oin scowled at him.  “And I suppose you have a better idea?”

 

Gandalf was quiet for a moment, as if he were trying to decide whether to turn the old dwarf into a slug or just outright kill him.  “What is it you need from me?”

 

“A bit of optimism would not go amiss,” Thranduil replied.  “Or, barring that, at least keep him unconscious while we see to his injury.  The last thing we need is to have him wake up and see my hands in his chest.”

 

Oin snorted.  “Ai, that’ll go over well.”

 

“He will not wake, you have my word.”  The old wizard bent over the dwarf king’s head and whispered quietly in his strange tongue.

 

“If we are to do this, we need to do it now,” Oin warned.  “The longer we wait, the more damage we’ll do when the blood clots around this blasted thing.”

 

Thranduil nodded to the old dwarf healer and carefully began to push the spear shaft through, keeping it as still as he could.  Once the wound was open, he got to work, cleaning out any splinters and healing what small bleeds he could find.  After probing carefully with both fingers and magic, he reached for needle and thread, carefully stitching what he could not heal.  “The shaft grazed his lung, but damage was minimal.  However,” he warned.  “The fit is tight.  There is no room for the wood to shift when it is pulled out.”

 

“My hands are as steady as yours, Master Elf,” Oin growled.  “Just get him packed so we can turn him and get this done before he heals around it.”  

 

Thranduil gave him an irritated look, but tied off and snipped his thread, quickly packing the wound with cloths soaked in calendula water.  “Turn him.”

 

Once the dwarf king was on his front and braced, Oin wrapped his hand around the spear shaft and, at a nod from Thranduil, pulled it out quickly and tossed it aside.

 

Thranduil was cleaning splinters and debris out immediately, tuning out the old dwarf’s growls to ‘watch out for his lung, ye pointy-eared brute!’  He reached for the needle and thread.  “Miraculously, his lung is fine, Master Dwarf.  Though if that is what you call having steady hands, it is a wonder anyone survives in your care.”

 

The dwarf healer squawked in outrage, then huffed and began preparing the bandages.  “Jus’ watch what yer doin’ with those long claws you call hands, elf.”

 

After what seemed to be hours, Thranduil finally sat back and rolled his shoulders, letting the attendants rush in and finish binding the king’s injuries.   He glanced over at Gandalf.  “It might be best to keep him sleeping for a while longer to give his wounds a chance to begin healing.”

 

“But he **will** heal, right?” Bilbo asked, seated between Fili and Kili’s cots.  “The hard part is over.”

 

“No, my dear boy,” the Wizard said quietly.  “I’m afraid the hard part is just beginning.  They have a chance, but now, we can only wait.  And hope.”

 

“They’ll be fine,” the Hobbit insisted.  “They’re too stubborn to be anything else.”

 

“From your lips to the Mahal’s ears, lad,” Oin muttered.

 

~`~`~<@ ~`~`~<@

 

Over the next several days, the injured royals began to slowly recover under the Elf King’s care and Oin’s critical eye.  Fili, by far the best off of the three, woke after three days and immediately demanded to see his brother and uncle. 

 

Once cleared by Oin, Fili ventured out as often as he could, checking on their company and reassuring the gathered troops that the line of Durin was still standing.  Thranduil supposed he could hardly blame the child.  Being someone clearly used to physical activity and at an age when every idle moment seemed to drag on for an eternity, it was no wonder he wanted out of the room for as long and often as possible.  Legolas had been much the same way at that age (and still was, if you asked Thranduil's opinion).

 

For his part, the king rarely left the healing tent.  His troops knew how to handle themselves, and Legolas and Meluion had been overseeing the recovery efforts to get Bard's people settled back into the ruins of Dale, leaving the king will little to concern himself over other than keeping his patients alive and **not** killing Oakenshield’s healer.

 

Though to be fair, the old dwarf knew what he was about.  He knew dwarven physiology better than Thranduil did (for obvious reasons), and even more importantly, he knew when to step back and let another take control when the situation merited.  He knew how to do it, but he certainly made sure the entire camp knew how much he resented the interference from pointy-eared tree-shaggers.

 

Mercifully, Oin had decided that for the moment, his services were better served elsewhere, healing the remaining aches and scrapes left over from the battle, rather than standing around, staring at his sleeping king and prince.

 

Feeling every one of his years, Thranduil rubbed at his eyes, then leaned in to check his young lover's pulse.  Still hearty and strong, much to his relief.

 

"You look tired," a blessed voice rasped out, dry and brittle as fall leaves.

 

Thranduil looked up in surprise.  “Kili…”  Thranduil reached for a pitcher of water, pouring it into a cup and holding it to Kili's lips.  After a moment, he pulled back.  "How do you feel?"

 

The young prince garbled something at him.

 

"I see.  Well, I should think that will get better soon."  He gave Kili another sip of water, then placed it on a nearby table.

 

"Y' look tired," his lover repeated.  "Never seen you this tired before." 

 

"Yes, well, you've been asleep for almost a week now.  Not all of us have had that luxury."

 

The young dwarf's eyes widened.  "Week?  Where's Fili?  Thorin?"

 

Thranduil held up a hand.  "Relax, they are... alive.  Your brother woke three days ago.  He is outside with the rest of your company, seeing to his people."

 

"Thorin?"

 

"Sleeping still.  His injuries were severe.  He is alive and on the mend, but Mithrandir is keeping him asleep until his body has healed more."  Thranduil adjusted the pillows and covers around him.  "I should go inform your brother and the others that you are awake.  They have been eager for news."  The king made to stand.

 

Kili reached for his hand, stopping him.  "Wait... don' go yet."  At the King's arched eyebrow, the dwarf prince sighed.  "Missed you.  Didn't think I'd ever see you again."

 

Thranduil sat back down.  "Neither did I.  When my guards told me you and your group had escaped down the river, I thought that was the end.  That you would die."

 

Kili's smile was weak.  "We're tougher folk than that."

 

"This is true, but we both know what dragon fire can do, even to tough folk."

 

The prince reached up and cupped Thranduil’s cheek.  “Yes, we do.”  He stroked his thumb over a finely sculpted cheekbone.  “So why are you hiding from me again?”

 

Thranduil leaned into the touch.  “Habit,” he said softly, kissing his palm.  “Besides, seeing it upon first waking –“

 

“Doesn’t bother me,” Kili whispered.  “You know that.  I told you before, I would gladly wake to it every morning.  The morning breath, on the other hand –“

 

“Cheeky child,” Thranduil said, chuckling softly as his eye grew milky white and deep scarring spread across the cheek under Kili’s palm.

 

“Perverted old elf.”  He smiled.  “There you are.  I like being able to see you.  For however long I am able, at least.” The young dwarf ran his fingers through Thranduil’s hair, then let them drop to the bed.  “Not long enough.  When do you have to leave?”

 

“Not for a while yet, little prince.  At least not until you and your uncle are well enough to be moved into the Mountain, and Bard’s people are settled in Dale.”

 

“Too soon,” Kili said with a sigh.  “If it isn’t a dragon and gold fever keeping us apart, it is duty and things that happened long before I was even born.”

 

“Your uncle has his reasons for his anger and the choices he has made, Kili, just as much as I did for mine.  But such pessimism does not suit you!  We are alive, and so are those we hold dear.  Anything is possible.”

 

“Even us?” Kili asked, soft and hopeful.

 

“Especially us,” Thranduil whispered, leaning in to kiss his forehead.  “We will find a way.”  His scarring faded and his eye was once more clear and blue.  “Now rest.  I will inform your companions that you are awake.”

 

Kili leaned back into his pillow.  “Fine.  But I’m not tired.  I’ve slept for ages.”  He let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

“Sleep well, princeling.  Tomorrow is a new day.”  Thranduil pushed his way out of the tent.

 

The tent fell silent but for the Dwarf King’s steady breathing.  Kili’s eyes began to droop.  Maybe he WOULD take a short nap…

 

“Well,” a voice said softly.  “You dwarves certainly never take the easy road, do you?”

 

 Kili started, glancing over toward his uncle with wide eyes.

 

Bilbo smiled back at him, holding his hands up in a sign of peace.  “Relax.  It’s just me.”

 

“How long have you been there?” the prince demanded.

 

“Since shortly after Oin and King Thranduil finished patching the two of you up.”

 

Kili swallowed hard, picking at his blanket.  “Look… Bilbo… what you saw just now…”

 

“Is absolutely none of my concern.”

 

“You’re right,” Kili huffed.  “It’s not.”  He chewed on his lip.  “So you’re not going to tell me what a bad idea this is, and how I’m a fool for thinking anything good will come of it?”

 

Bilbo sighed and walked over to him, sitting on the edge of his bed.  “Now THAT would be very hypocritical of me.”

 

“How?” the young dwarf asked.

 

“Because any number of my family and neighbors would have said the same thing about me coming on this quest.  If I had given them a chance to, that is.”

 

“And you didn’t?”

 

“No.”  Bilbo winked.  “And neither should you.”

 

Kili settled back on his pillow in thought.  “Mister Boggins?  D’you think it could actually work?”

 

Bilbo walked back over to the sleeping king and picked up a damp cloth.  “Honestly, Kili, it’s not my place to say whether I think it will or won’t work.  But I have to hope that there is a chance.”

 

“Why?”

 

The hobbit hesitated for a moment, then carefully wiped a bit of grime from Thorin’s arm.  “Because if it can work for you and your king, then perhaps it can work for me and mine, too.”

 

Kili closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly feeling quite tired.  Perhaps a good rest was in order after all.  Tomorrow would be simply have to figure itself out.

 

He slept.

 

[](http://s345.photobucket.com/user/Nuinzilien/media/Works%20for%20You%20Work%20for%20Me%20-%20BB2016_zpswbqvbwev.jpg.html)


End file.
